Shadowflame (29 page)

When they reached the third-eye chakra, which was supposed to govern one’s inner sight, Cora heard a gasp.

She opened one eye partway and saw that something odd was happening to the Queen.

Miranda was white as a sheet, and her breathing was shallow. She sat cross-legged as Cora and Lalita did, but her hands were clenched on her knees and her forehead was creased in what looked like pain.

“My Lady?” Cora asked in a whisper.

Lalita’s eyes popped open and she, too, looked worried. “Are you . . .”

Before she could finish the question, the Queen’s hands flew up to her forehead, covering her already-closed eyes. She moaned and doubled over. “No . . .”

Suddenly things all over the room began to shake.

Lalita put her hands on the Queen’s shoulders and tried to rouse her, but the Queen didn’t seem to hear; she was lost somewhere, and to Cora’s dismay the shield she was holding up around Cora began to tremble and dissolve and Cora could feel the Queen’s power again, this time surging dangerously. Hot, thick fear seized Cora’s heart, and she pushed herself away, all but crawling backward to put as much space between herself and the Queen as she could.

Things began to topple over. Mats fell, the fabric hangings Lalita had draped around the room sagged and then slipped from the walls . . . the very ground felt like it was shaking.

Lalita cried out in alarm, and Cora followed her wide eyes to see that the ceiling fan overhead was coming loose from its wiring.

The Queen screamed.

The fan tore from the ceiling and fell.

Cora flung herself forward, trying to push Lalita out of the way, and the two women tumbled backward in the chaos—

—which stopped as quickly as it had started.

Cora, sprawled out over Lalita on the floor, craned her head back to see what had happened, and it was her turn to gasp.

Standing in the center of the room, one hand held up toward the fan that had frozen in midair, the other touching Miranda’s forehead, was the Prime.

The Queen’s eyes rolled back in her head and she fell sideways onto her mat, unconscious.

The Prime’s eyes and hand followed the ceiling fan and it floated over to the corner, where it landed in a heap. He turned, looking around the room, and in seconds everything had righted itself, the scattered pieces of Lalita’s altar returning to their places, the tapestries back on the walls.

He didn’t ask if Cora and Lalita were all right, but she supposed it was unnecessary. Aside from shock they were both fine, not even a scratch on either. He bent and lifted the Queen into his arms, then gave them a quick nod of acknowledgment and strode out of the studio.

Cora and Lalita were left staring at each other.

Blood . . . so much blood . . .

Someone was dying. She could hear Kat screaming—not in pain, but in panic, in horror, her heart—not her body—rent into tatters. Miranda tried to help her . . . she couldn’t move . . . she was an outsider here, trapped behind a glass wall where all she could do was listen and watch, pounding her fists on an invisible barrier. She tried to scream but her voice died on the wind. She could only watch scattered images of the nightmare unfolding before her, powerless.

So much blood . . .

“I’m done for, Miranda. You have to save yourself.”

Who was speaking? She strained to identify the voice but she couldn’t reach it, couldn’t . . .

She could hear something dripping . . . dripping . . . water, onto a bare floor . . . dripping . . . blood, dripping . . . dripping . . .

Bars. Her hands closed around cold steel bars.

“Please tell me this was all a nightmare, Miranda.”

“Hello, darling.” A man’s voice, scornful.

She heard something shatter, saw shards of crystal catching moonlight as they fell . . .

“Miranda, NO!”

She could hear the screaming, she could smell the blood and taste it rusty and hot in the back of her throat, but she couldn’t stop any of it.

“Please . . . you have to save him . . . you have to . . . promise me . . . you’re the only one strong enough to do it. Promise me . . .”

“How dare you come into our house—”

Red light . . . red light . . . red . . . four, five, six . . . seven . . . eight . . . glowing red in a circle, one by one flashing, their light falling into sync . . .

“Hello, darling.” A woman’s voice, scornful.

Agony . . . searing, her soul being ripped in half, her screams tearing the silence of the night as she fell . . . and watched herself fall . . . only it wasn’t her . . .

Warmth intruded. She felt herself being pulled back from the glass wall, gentle hands drawing her down, out, back into her body.

She strained to hear the last few words as she began to wake . . . it was almost as if someone were whispering into her ear.

Firstborn . . .

Eleusis . . .

Alpha . . .

Lydia . . .

Trinity . . .

“Miranda.”

That last voice, she recognized. She reached toward it, yearning for solid ground, for the waking world, and felt hands taking hers and drawing her down, down . . .

She was sobbing as she woke, relief and fear overcoming her, and she fled into David’s arms, shaking.

“It’s all right, beloved. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

She was absolutely incoherent for a while but gradually got a toehold of control back, dragging herself toward calm one lurching inch at a time. She could feel a shield around her, probably as much to protect the rest of the Haven from her as to protect her from it. But the feeling—of being contained and held, safe, surrounded by such warm and loving energy—was grounding, and it helped her wrestle her powers back into her own grasp.

Once she was calm David lowered the shield around her, though she could still feel him around her, physically and otherwise. She breathed in the warmth of his body and let out a long, shaky breath.

“What did you see?” he asked her softly.

Miranda shut her eyes tightly and buried her face in his shoulder. “Death,” she whispered. “I saw death.”

“Whose?”

“I don’t know,” she said, barely holding back more tears. “It was all jumbled together—there were words, and sounds, and images, and smells . . . it was like I was watching five TV shows at once. It didn’t make any sense.”

He stroked her hair and murmured to her while she shook, but despite the possibility of dire circumstances rolling toward them he sounded concerned about her, but not about the future. “That’s how it started for Jonathan,” he said. “Dreams, mostly, so twisted around themselves that he couldn’t interpret anything. It took time for him to learn how to see one thing at a time. You should talk to him—he can probably help you.”

“You’re not worried about what I saw?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Remember how it was with your empathy? All you could hear were the pain and suffering because they were the loudest. Now that you know how to control it, you feel things differently. It’s the same with precognition. Death and misery are the most vivid because they play into your own fears. But that doesn’t mean everything in the future is full of peril.”

She shook her head, marveling at how calm he was about it. If he had seen . . . if he had heard . . . the screams, the blood . . . She shuddered and returned her head to his shoulder, covering her eyes. “It was awful.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No . . . not yet. But . . . I do have one question, maybe you know . . . who’s Lydia?”

David went very still. “Lydia?”

“Yes . . . there were words, like someone was whispering to me at the end. The only actual name in it was Lydia.”

She looked at him. His eyes were wide.

“You know a Lydia?” Miranda asked.

David took a deep breath. “I’ve known one.”

“Who was she?”

His grip on her arms tightened as if she were a teddy bear and he were afraid of the storm outside. “She was my sire.”

Fourteen

“There’s really not much to tell,” David said, handing Miranda the Coke he’d climbed out of bed to fetch her from the bar fridge. She was sitting up wrapped in the sheets, listening to him keenly, but practically inhaled the soda—that was another thing David remembered Deven remarking upon when Jonathan was new to the gift; after he had a vision he guzzled caffeine, and it kept him from getting a nasty third-eye migraine.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of her, he went on, “When the Witchfinder came to our town, it didn’t take long for Lizzie and me to be hauled in front of the court. She was a strong woman who spoke her mind, and I . . . well, there had been rumors about me since I was a child. You don’t just start making things float without people noticing. My mother knew if I was ever found out I’d be hanged as a Witch, so she made me keep it secret, but there was still gossip.”

Miranda stared at him over the Coke can. “So they threw you both in jail.”

“Yes.”

“Why did the Witchfinder come to town in the first place?”

“There were unexplained deaths all over the county. Bodies were found drained of blood in the woods and the fields.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right. Half a dozen people were killed—and then the burnings started.”

“Wait . . . I thought you said Witches were hanged in that era.”

“The most common method was hanging followed by a public burning of the corpse. It was nearly unheard of for someone to be burned alive in England. The panic that swept through places like Germany didn’t grip our country; for the most part the judicial system kept things civilized, requiring evidence, a trial. But this Witchfinder preferred a more . . . flamboyant, if you’ll forgive the pun, method of execution. He wanted the whole village to turn on each other out of fear. He was paid by the head, after all. The more Witches he found, the richer he became.”

“Nobody suspected his motives? Not anyone?”

“Of course they did. But to speak up would have been an instant confession of collusion with the devil. I remember . . .” He flipped the tab on his own can, this one a Dr Pepper; he’d lived in the South for years before discovering an affection for the regional beverage of choice. “Lizzie was afraid—she knew that what had happened in other places would in ours. She’d heard about the burnings in Germany. She wanted to take Thomas and move away. But back then you couldn’t just pick up and leave your home like that. My entire livelihood was there, and it wasn’t terribly portable.”

She grinned. “One of these days I want to see you bang a hammer on an anvil. It’s got to be sexy as hell.”

He smiled back. “It was the closest thing to engineering they had back then.”

“So, you were put in jail . . .” Her smile disappeared. “Were you tortured?”

Now shame gripped him at the memory, and he lowered his eyes. “No. We were threatened with it, and a couple of victims who refused to confess were tortured, but again, it was the Witchfinder’s method, not the town’s. Still . . . hearing the screams . . . I was terrified. I confessed.”

She looked genuinely surprised. “What about Lizzie?”

He had to smile at that. “She went to the stake raging, shrieking like a banshee that God would judge the town for its crimes and that her conscience was clear. I’m thankful she never knew that I took the coward’s way out or she might never have forgiven me. But they didn’t torture the women; they simply executed them, five in all over the course of a week. I begged the judge to leave me alive until Lizzie’s brother arrived to take Thomas away and I knew he was safe. The judge was an old friend of my father’s, so he managed to put the Witchfinder off for a day—because I had confessed I was promised a hanging before my burning. But then that night . . . a woman came to the jail.”

“Lydia?”

“Lydia. I had never seen her before, but she knew my name and knew everything about me. She killed the guard, opened the cell, and attacked me.”

He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the details. It had been so long ago, and the transformation had a way of scattering memories on the wind; that night and the week that followed were a blur of pain and fear and blood, faded by time. “She was pale,” he said. “Her hair was golden, her eyes blue . . . exotic for our drab part of the country. So was the fact that she was fastidiously clean. I knew she had to be wealthy by her clothes and the way she moved. And just being near her . . . she was so powerful. She felt to me the way I imagine I feel to mortals now. She drained me near to death, and I woke in the forest just in time for her to force her blood into my mouth.”

“Did she tell you who she was? What she wanted?”

“No. Only her name, and that I had to stay out of the sun. Then she vanished.”

Miranda was staring at him, mouth open. “She just left you alone in the woods, not even knowing what you were?”

“I woke just before dawn and dragged myself to a cave I remembered from my childhood. I spent the next few days . . . well, you know.”

Miranda nodded slowly, remembering. “God.”

“When it was over I had to figure things out on my own. I nearly roasted in the sun and spent days recovering. I ate just about every small animal in the county trying to assuage my thirst, but in the end . . . there was only one thing to do.”

He had slipped through the forest that night, lithe and deadly even in his fledgling power, only two things on his mind: blood and vengeance.

He started with the Witchfinder.

“By the time I left the town I had killed every man who had a hand in Lizzie’s death. I stole their money and clothes, and I broke back into our house long enough to gather a few things. Then I stole a horse and put the town at my back. I made my way to London, where I could disappear into the city. After several months I finally found others of our kind.”

“I don’t understand,” Miranda said. “Why would she bring you across and then disappear like that? I’m assuming she had been in the area long enough to kill those six people and find out all about you. And why you?”

“I have no idea, beloved. I tried to find her, for a while, but no one had ever heard of her. It was probably a fake name, after all. But for some reason, out of all the crappy little villages in England, she chose ours, and out of all the psychic smiths in the world, she chose me.”

A blast of thunder rattled the windows, but with the shutters locked down there was no corresponding flash. A thought seemed to occur to Miranda, and she actually grinned. “Your original surname was Smith, wasn’t it?”

He smiled at her. “Did you see anything else that involved Lydia?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It was just a name. It doesn’t feel connected to anything else. I wonder if that means she’s going to appear at some point. I hope not. I think we have all the drama we need.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” David said, and they clinked their cans together. But even as he said the words, David thought about what Deven had said . . . that there was something about Miranda, and their bond, that would ensure that their life together was never peaceful . . . and even if he had been unconvinced of Deven’s sincerity, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that
drama
was the understatement of the century for whatever they had ahead of them.

After the theatrics of Prime Hart’s visit and the angst of Prime Deven’s, Miranda braced herself for some kind of bullshit surrounding Janousek’s arrival. She was ready for him to be an ass, or a sexist pig, or at the very least coldhearted and arrogant.

She wasn’t ready for him to be . . . nice.

“Prime Jacob Janousek, at your service,” he said, bowing.

Her first thought was that he looked like a young hippie Jesus. He had brown hair falling down past his shoulders, and a neatly trimmed beard; his eyes were a warm brown, intelligent and kind, and held hers without the slightest bit of artifice or disdain. He looked to have been in his midtwenties when he came across; David had mentioned that he was actually in his mid-220s. Aside from his Signet, which was set with amber, he wore a plain gold cross on a chain, but no other jewelry that Miranda could see.

Another thing he didn’t have, which surprised her, was a noticeable accent. When she mentioned it, he laughed and said, “I’m no more Eastern European than your Prime is Southern American, my Lady. My ancestors are from the area now known as Slovakia, but in fact I was born in France and lived most of my life here in America. I moved to Prague because of my friendship with the former Prime, and when he died the Signet chose me. Rest assured, however, I’ve been there long enough that all of my other languages are accentless as well.”

“How many do you speak?” she asked as they all settled in the study for the usual drill of drinks and conversation.

“Seventeen fluently,” he replied. “I can fumble my way through another half dozen and find beer and a lavatory in another three.”

Miranda looked over at David. “That’s more than you speak.”

David smiled. “I’ve lived in the U.S. for a long time. The only two languages I’ve found necessary to get by here in Texas are American English and Spanish. The rest are just for fun.”

The conversation was friendly and tension-free. Miranda didn’t even know how to react to a Prime who was simply himself and had no hidden agenda for visiting; he had come because he liked David and wanted to further solidify their alliance, and that was it.

“How is Isis?” Janousek asked.

Miranda had forgotten until that moment that the Friesian had been a gift from the Prime of Eastern Europe; a bribe, David had said. Judging from the enthusiasm with which the two Primes talked about the horses, Miranda thought
bribe
was the wrong word, though it might have been accurate at the time.

“. . . just foaled,” Janousek was saying. “An absolutely gorgeous male—I’m hoping he’ll be as bright as his sire, just like Isis was . . . but perhaps a bit less willful.”

“Why don’t we go out to the stables,” David said. “We’re due another round of storms tomorrow, so this might be the only chance while you’re here to take her out, if you like. Miranda has business in the city tonight anyway.”

Seeing the glint in the men’s eyes, she chuckled. “You two go ahead,” she told David as all three of them rose simultaneously. “It was lovely to meet you, Lord Prime. I’m quite pleased to have you as our ally.”

Janousek bowed to her again. “Likewise, my Lady. I congratulate you both on winning the Pair lottery.”

Miranda left the meeting feeling completely different than she had at any of the previous Magnificent Bastard arrivals; even Tanaka, who had been perfectly well mannered and given no hint that he disliked Miranda, hadn’t put her at ease, perhaps because he was so much older and more traditional than Janousek; and his Queen Mameha, though a fascinating person and blindingly intelligent, had been, Miranda freely admitted, intimidating as hell.

She met Lali and Aaron outside by the car. “How did it go?” Lali asked.

“Amazingly smoothly,” she replied, slipping into the car with her bodyguards and motioning to Harlan to drive on. “I think I may finally have met a Prime I don’t want to punch in the head.”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Lali said, her ringing laugh filling the car. “Try not to be too disappointed.”

“I wish I could be of more help,” Jacob said regretfully. “As soon as you asked, I did what digging I could, but you didn’t give me much to go on as far as your suspect goes.”

“I know.” David led the way back to the stables, the two Primes leading the Friesians on a slow walk after their outing; Isis and Osiris were in high spirits, which was more than David could say for himself. He’d known that asking Janousek for information about the assassin was a long shot, but still, he’d held out some hope. “You’re right, of course. It’s not as if you know every vampire who ever came from Finland.”

“There aren’t a lot,” Jacob admitted. “Finland’s population is pretty sparse. My territory, as you know, isn’t the hotbed of vampire activity that yours is. There are practically no vampires north of Latvia, and aside from Prague, Krakow, and Riga, I just don’t have that much density. And you know how contentious my borders are.”

“I do. I suppose you should be glad that Demetriou has Romania—you don’t have to deal with all the Dracula wannabes.”

Janousek’s territory was small compared to Western Europe’s or the Black Sea’s; historically the East had been dealt a lot of in-between countries, and the Prime of the Black Sea, who had ruled for longer than almost any other Prime and was known for his insatiable—and somewhat archaic—greed for land, was a constant threat at Janousek’s borders. Janousek had managed to bring a tentative peace, but at the last Council Demetriou had made yet another play for Croatia and Hungary. Janousek’s good reputation in the Council had helped him keep his hold. Janousek’s western border at Austria/the Czech Re/files/05/44/63/f054463/public/Poland had been peaceful his entire tenure, but the eastern border was another story entirely.

David knew that part of the reason Jacob was anxious to keep him as an ally was that David’s influence in the Council would help him hold his territory together; David didn’t hold it against him. If he were Janousek, he’d want David’s friendship, too. And if Jacob had been less than a good man with the interests of his people at heart, David would have been happy to leave him to Demetriou’s wolves . . . well, that wasn’t entirely true. Janousek would have to have been a cock on the order of Prime Hart to make David side with Demetriou.

Jacob chuckled. “Demetriou would go after Russia if it weren’t for the fact that Dzhamgerchinov scares the devil out of him. Frankly he scares the devil out of me, too.”

“I think I’m more frightened by how easily you pronounce his name.”

Another laugh. “Nonsense. Everyone knows you’re not afraid of anything or anyone.”

They took the horses into the stable and got them groomed and fed for the night, letting the topic of conversation steer itself back to horses; finally, with the night waning, they headed back to the Haven itself.