Shadowflame Part 12

She stared out, hand to her mouth.

It was so beautiful.

The hallway was on the second floor, looking out over a garden labyrinth and beyond it, a forest. The stars were burning in their diamond finery, and by the half-moon's light she could see deer picking at the outermost shrubs. The garden was full of night-blooming flowers, and though she didn't know their names, some were familiar, whispering to her of a long-lost life lived on gra.s.sy hillsides, punctuated with youthful laughter and the sound of cows lowing in the distance.

Cora stood there staring at the world, her mind whirling, her heart so full it hurt, for a long time. She watched owls swoop down from the trees to s.n.a.t.c.h small creatures from the gra.s.s. She watched a buck with gleaming silver antlers make his regal way along the edge of the wood. She watched the stars turn, and she wept with silent joy.

She was so absorbed in witnessing the night that she didn't hear footsteps, but she felt someone move up beside her.

She shrank back, turning, ready to run-or try to run, whatever her body would let her do.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly. "I won't hurt you."

Now, instead of staring at the window, she stared at him.

He was a young-looking, slender vampire, stranger than anything she had ever seen at the Master's Haven. He had an angelic face run through in several places with silver rings, and his hair was dark; he wore a short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt that showed tattoos covering both of his arms from wrist to shoulder. On one side was an angel with a sword; on the other, a winged demon holding a dove.

She saw the amulet around his neck, this one glowing faintly emerald green, and she swallowed hard around her fear, dropping painfully to her knees.

"Forgive me, Sire," she whispered.

"For what?" he asked curiously.

"I did not avert my eyes."

He made a disgusted noise and muttered something about a d.i.c.kless b.a.s.t.a.r.d, then gently lifted her chin with his hand so their eyes met. "Never avert your eyes to anyone, Cora," he told her. He spoke nearly flawless Italian save for the lingering traces of some lilting accent. "Now, get up."

She obeyed, wiping her eyes.

He joined her at the window, looking out as she had. "This place is magnificent," he said, maintaining his distance but speaking to her casually. "I wish my own Haven had a tenth of its beauty."

Cora swallowed again and asked, haltingly, "Where do you live, my Lord?"

"California. I think you'd like it; our home reminds me a lot of Italy."

"How . . . how did you know my name?"

He smiled. "I heard all about you from Prime Solomon and his Queen. Your room is down the hall from ours."

"Your Queen is here with you?"

"My Consort," he corrected. "His name is Jonathan."

"Oh . . ." She suddenly knew who he was; she had heard the Master ranting about him, his deviant ways, his perversions . . . he had made him out to be some kind of twisted monster, not . . . like this. "You are Prime Deven."

"I am. It's a pleasure to meet you, Cora."

He took her hand and kissed it lightly, and she blushed. It was the most courtesy a man had ever shown her. She had been so afraid of the Prime of the South, but this Deven was different; she knew by instinct that he had no interest in doing the things to her that Hart had done, no interest in touching any woman out of rage or l.u.s.t. It was comforting.

"My Master hates you," she said.

Deven chuckled. "I know. It gives me such pride, as does knowing I could tear his limbs off with one hand. He likes to think he's strong, but if he were half as powerful as he claims to be, he would have laid me low long ago. He knows he can't. And, Cora . . . he isn't your master now. You are a free woman, your own master."

Cora digested this for a moment, but it left her feeling shaky in her stomach, panicky. "What am I to do?" she whispered.

"Nothing, for now," he told her. There was such caring in his eyes, which in the darkness glittered like amethysts. "For now, concentrate on becoming strong and healthy. The Pair will let you stay as long as you want to, no questions asked. You're safe under their care."

"Why is everyone here so kind to me?" she blurted, then felt her cheeks growing even more scarlet. "I'm no one. I don't matter to anybody."

Deven put his hand on her face, and she felt warmth and strength flowing into her body that helped her stand a little straighter and get her tears under control.

Standing there with his palm touching her skin, she felt something . . . something stirred in her, and an image flashed in her mind's eye: She saw a young man with deep violet eyes and auburn hair, standing at the edge of a wood with one hand on the trunk of a tree, smiling at her . . . no, not at her . . . at Deven. The image was gone as soon as it came, and she had no idea how to interpret it, or if it was in any way real.

"You matter," he said, startling her out of her mental tumble. "I a.s.sure you, you do. As to why . . . well, I can tell you that the Prime and Queen are both good people, very protective of those who cannot protect themselves. At heart that is why the Signets exist, but most of us have forgotten that. And, Cora . . . I don't have the level of sight that my Consort has, but I know one thing: You have work to do in this world. I know it."

She was shaken by what she had seen-and all the more by his words-but she had a feeling, deep in her belly, that she shouldn't speak of it. Not yet. "You do?"

He smiled again. "Yes, I do. Now . . . will you be able to find your room again, when you're ready to rest? It's just around this corner, five doors down on the right. And if you go another two doors and cross the hall, you'll find us. We'll be here a few days, so if you need anything, you need only come ask."

Sniffling, she nodded. "Thank you, Sire."

He stepped back and bowed. "Good night, young one."

Cora wiped her eyes one last time on the sleeve of her jacket, then turned back to the window, where she stayed until her legs could barely hold her up, then made her slow way back to her room, smiling.

"Wait, wait . . . you're telling me David had a boyfriend?"

Miranda nodded. "More like a husband, really. And he's a total jacka.s.s."

"Wow." Kat leaned back in her chair, watching Miranda wriggle into the black vinyl corset top, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's crazy. I mean, yeah, he's a little swishy, but-"

"You think David's swishy?" Miranda asked, pausing, a bit out of breath from trying to get the d.a.m.n thing zipped. "I never noticed that."

"It's nothing in particular, just a . . . quality."

"Well, I had no idea. The whole thing completely caught me by surprise." Miranda pulled the top into place, then leaned over to wiggle her b.r.e.a.s.t.s into it properly. "Is it wrong that I feel weird about it?"

Kat made a face. "Mira, of course you feel weird. Think about it: In relations.h.i.+ps we form concepts of people based on their behavior and what we know about their histories. Those concepts can be accurate or not, and they can be healthy or not, but regardless, if something shakes them, it shakes us, too. You knew David one way, and it turns out that way wasn't entirely on target, so now you have to adjust. Given how close you are, that makes it even harder."

Miranda faced her friend. "Well?"

Kat frowned, eyeing the outfit. "I liked the first one better-the red lace brings out your eyes, makes the green more intense."

Miranda wished for a moment that she could see herself; instead she was in a dressing room with a curtain pulled over the mirror and Kat there to critique her. She'd never really liked shopping, and she liked shopping for stage clothes even less. Luckily she trusted Kat's judgment. "You're right. Let me try the other one with these pants-if I can get the pants zipped. Jesus, Goth girls are skinny. At least I've got an a.s.s."

"And a killer rack," Kat commented. "Especially in that getup."

Miranda ran her hands down over her torso to smooth the s.h.i.+rt, which wasn't a real corset; she couldn't wear a real one onstage and sing the way she did. There were also limits to the cleavage she could manage with a guitar hanging over her middle.

"I'll bet that there are much more disturbing things in David's past than a jerk boyfriend." Kat returned to the subject, handing her back the first top. "He's three hundred fifty years old, after all. And he probably didn't get where he is by being nice."

"No, he didn't." Miranda hadn't told Kat much about David's past, not even how he had gotten his Signet; she wasn't sure if Kat was ready for that. "He's been through a lot and done a lot."

"Well, if you can deal with all of that, you can deal with a little swish. It's not like it's a bad thing. Bi is the new hotness, you know."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Only if it's two women in a p.o.r.no movie for straight guys."

"And as for the ex being a jacka.s.s-if David still likes him, and his hubby is a great guy like you said and loves him, he must not be all bad. Maybe you should try to find some common ground. Besides David, I mean, because that could get weird."

Miranda smiled at her. "How did you get so d.a.m.n wise?"

Kat snorted. "Wise would be if I hadn't gotten knocked up."

The Queen sat down on the changing room's bench, abandoning her quest for a moment. She'd been avoiding the subject for most of the evening because she knew Kat was tired of thinking about it every moment of every day, but now that Kat had brought it up, Miranda asked what she'd been wanting to since meeting Kat outside the shop: "What did Drew say?"

Kat shrugged. "He's overjoyed. He wants to get married."

Miranda could hear the ambivalence, and moreover she could feel it. "And you?"

"I don't know. I'm done panicking, so that's progress. And I'm glad I didn't go through with the abortion before Drew got back. But I still don't know what I'm going to do."

Miranda didn't say anything, though the desire to make Kat promise to keep the baby was so strong she had to bite her lip against the words. It must be part of her prescient gift, if it could be called a gift. She knew, she just knew, that Kat would have the baby, and that it would be a girl, and somehow . . . somehow that little girl would grow up to be very important to a lot of people. But she wasn't about to put pressure on Kat.

"I love kids," Kat went on. "But I've seen so many who were so screwed up, and seen how the world is so hard for them . . . how can I have a kid?"

Miranda took a deep breath, stood, and changed into the red-trimmed top, saying as casually as she could, "Maybe you're exactly the kind of person who should have kids, then. Someone who's been there and seen the best and worst of people. Someone educated, with common sense. You could give a kid a great home, with or without Drew."

"But am I ready for this?"

Miranda leaned over and did the b.o.o.b shake again, settling into the outfit and testing it out to see if she could breathe. So far so good. "Is anyone?"

Kat leaned the chair back on two legs, sighing heavily. "Distract me, okay? Tell me more about your big gay husband." Miranda threw a hair scrunchie at her. Kat laughed, setting the chair back down. "Oh, come on. Is the guy at least hot?"

"Disgustingly," Miranda replied. "He's all Goth and leather."

"And he's really old and powerful?"

"Over seven hundred years old, and yeah. Apparently most regular vampires only live to about five hundred at the outside, so he's like a little fanged Yoda."

Kat gave her a playful grin. "Have you had any fantasies yet?"

"About what?"

"About the two of them getting it on."

"G.o.d, Kat! No!"

Kat laughed. "Which means yes. Admit it, Mira, it's a turn-on! Just picture them in bed-"

"Kat!" Miranda groaned, looking for something else to throw.

"Who do you think would be on top?" Kat pondered eagerly.

"Quit it!" Miranda tried to sound outraged, but she was laughing too hard, and said, "Okay, I'll give you this, seeing them kiss was kind of . . . s.e.xy."

"They kissed? Was there tongue?"

This time Miranda threw a balled-up s.h.i.+rt at her. "Not that I saw. Now tell me what you think, so I can either buy this thing or get the h.e.l.l out of here."

Kat looked her over again, then flashed her a thumbs-up. "Perfect. I dare anybody to be a jacka.s.s to you in that outfit."

"Thank G.o.d. I've had enough of this shopping c.r.a.p for one night. Let me put my real clothes back on and we'll go for ice cream."

A few minutes later Miranda was mercifully back in her jeans, although she was wearing a lace-up black top with belled sleeves and her favorite big black boots. She'd spent long enough s...o...b..ng around in threadbare T-s.h.i.+rts back when she was crazy; comfort still came first, but she knew she looked good in slightly more . . . vampire-appropriate clothing.

She took the new outfit up to the counter, where the bored girl with the pierced upper lip and six pounds of white foundation looked up from her copy of Catcher in the Rye. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Miranda said. "Do you have the pants in a size ten? These are a little snug."

The girl didn't roll her eyes, but Miranda knew she was doing it in her mind. Her tone was both bored and dismissive as she said, "Did you see any on the rack?"

Miranda's temper flared, and she looked into the girl's eyes and said, power and immortality both clear in her voice, "Go check in the back, please."

The girl went pale under her Urban Decay and stammered for a second before saying, "Yes, of course. Hold on just a sec."

Miranda shook her head and glanced at Kat, who was looking at her appraisingly. "You didn't even have to vampmojo her."

Miranda smiled. "How do you know?"

"I remember that tone of voice from the time I took you to the ER and you almost flattened that nurse. You were standing there in your panties and you might as well have had a crown on your head."

The clerk returned with a pair of pants guaranteed to fit the Queen, who handed over her Visa wordlessly.

"Aren't you going to check the price?" Kat asked.

Miranda shrugged. "I'm not worried about it. I have to wear this in front of an audience, so I don't mind spending more."

"Oh, right, I forgot, you're Miss Gotbucks von Rich-a.s.s now."

Miranda signed the charge slip and said, laughing, "That's Queen Gotbucks von Rich-a.s.s, thank you very much. Now come on-there's a double-scoop Mexican vanilla hot fudge sundae out there with my name on it."

David wasn't the kind of man to procrastinate, and he certainly wasn't one to avoid facing his problems-at least, not anymore. Once upon a time he had run as far and fast from Deven as he could, and only when there were several thousand miles between them could he breathe again.

He'd thought that all those miles and all those years had done what apologies could not. He'd thought that the past was past, and now that they both had Consorts and were presumably happy and settled in their reigns, it would be just like it had once been, when he had been Deven's student in the training ring and they had been friends outside it.

Denial, denial, denial.

Now here he was, in his bedroom pondering the sword in his hand-a sword that Deven himself had given David after he took the Southern Signet-growing progressively later and later for their appointment in the training room, and David Solomon, Prime of the Southern United States, was scared out of his mind.