Shadowflame Part 15

"Who whipped you?"

"The abbot."

"Why?"

He opened his eyes and fixed her with a stare. "He caught me in bed with one of the other novices."

Miranda wasn't sure how to respond to that. "So you were a monk?"

"Until the day I died." He drank again, then again, before saying, "I was the fourth son of a farmer in southern Ireland. I was a weak little thing, far too frail to work the fields. So when I was eleven years old my father sent me to my uncle, who ran a monastery. I was basically a t.i.the to bribe the Almighty for a better harvest."

"That must have been hard for you, to leave home so young," she said.

"On the contrary, that journey was the first time I ever remember looking forward to anything. I loved G.o.d. I was born to be a monk. I had no desire for a wife or family or land of my own. I longed only for silence around me and the light of G.o.d within. I spent hours in prayer, on my knees at my bedside. I hated the farm, my rough rowdy brothers, and the drudgery of our lives. I wanted to devote my life to Christ and to the written word-monks back then were some of the only scholars."

"But when you got there . . ."

"It didn't take long for my uncle to suspect there was something abnormal about me," Deven said. There was strangely little emotion in his words; even for something so long ago she would have expected a little anger, or sorrow, but it almost sounded as though he were telling someone else's story. "I know now that he started the monastery after being driven out of his old one for accusations of pedophilia. He was obsessed with purity and chast.i.ty, and to sublimate his own s.e.xual urges he tried to beat mine out of me. He decided it was his mission to make me fit to stand before G.o.d. He forced me to pray for twelve to twenty hours at a time, on my knees, even after I had lost my voice; I was only allowed to eat every few days; I had to recite Leviticus while he tore open my back with the whip. Between broken bones, infection, and starvation I came close to dying more times than I can count . . . but I was so afraid of the d.a.m.nation I faced that I dragged myself back to life every time."

"I'm sorry," Miranda said softly.

"I don't want your pity, Queen," he snapped. "Don't think that we have some common bond because men treated us both like trash."

"I don't think that," Miranda said, her own anger flas.h.i.+ng at him. "We're nothing alike. What happened to me didn't turn me into a drunken p.r.i.c.k who tries to get in his old boyfriend's pants after f.u.c.king him over. Trust me, I don't want to claim any common ground with you."

"If I wanted David, I'd take him," Deven informed her venomously.

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" she demanded. "You have a fantastic Consort who for some reason I can't figure out loves the h.e.l.l out of you, and you're fixated on a married ex who doesn't want you anymore? Who are you trying to hurt-me? David? Or yourself?" Miranda sat up straight and leveled a look of loathing on the Prime. "You missed your chance, Deven," she snarled. "You blew it. It's over now. You drove him away, now he's with me, and I'm not going anywhere. So get the f.u.c.k over it."

The ire seemed to drain out of Deven as quickly as it had come.

Silence sat awkwardly, and drunkenly, between them while she finished her drink and poured another. The Prime didn't react to her outburst at all for a while.

Finally he said, "You can hate me all you want, but I'm not going anywhere either."

"Yeah, I know."

"I suppose for David's sake we should try to get along."

"Probably." Another pause. Then she asked, "What do you think is happening to David and me?"

"What makes you think I would know?"

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, come on. Even David thinks you know everything. You can't tell me that in all the years you've been around, you've never heard of psychic gifts being contagious."

"As a matter of fact, I haven't," he said.

"I picked up on his telekinesis, and he picked up on your fighting mojo. How could that happen?"

Deven leaned over the arm of the couch and felt around for a moment before coming up with a second bottle of whiskey, this one new. As he opened it, he corrected her. "He didn't get it from me; he got it from you."

"But I don't have it."

"You've got precog because you're a Queen," he said. "It's still untrained, and so is his. The telekinesis you got from him was already honed and focused-it took him years to learn how to direct it enough to throw a living thing. What I have isn't a single gift, it's a combination of three factors: prescience, telepathy, and technique. I taught him the third, he already had the second, and from you he got the first. His work was still a little sloppy around the edges, but once he got out of his own way, it was genuinely powerful."

"Why is it harder to throw living things?"

Deven shrugged. "They wiggle?"

"Sophie showed me how to do something similar to that," Miranda recalled. "I wonder where she learned it from."

"No idea. But the thing to remember is you've had precog y our whole life-it's part of who you are. It just didn't start to actively manifest until you became Queen. It's practically unheard of for someone to just spontaneously develop a psychic talent without at least some latent ability . . . and even less heard of to start manifesting someone else's."

"Still, the central question isn't answered. How did it happen?"

"I would venture to guess that the answer is somewhere in our history. Legend has it that back in the ancient days, when the Signets were new, we had abilities we can only dream of, abilities we lost somewhere along the way. We are a mere echo of what we once were."

Miranda held her gla.s.s tightly. "But some of it is still possible."

"Most likely all of it is, if you know where to find it. As to that, I'm as clueless as anyone. I didn't become Prime for mystical powers . . . actually I didn't do it on purpose at all, so I was never all that interested in some grand destiny."

She crunched a half-melted piece of ice in her teeth. "Did you mean it when you said you don't believe in G.o.d anymore?"

He crossed his arms and leaned back. "I went to live in the house of G.o.d and spent six years tormented by his holy representative. I prayed and prayed for deliverance, and all I got were broken fingers and lye burns, because G.o.d didn't care to save a wretched little sodomite like me. I learned I was h.e.l.lsp.a.w.n because of the things I could do, and the only atonement was to let my uncle abuse my body in the name of Christ our Lord. After that I lived for seven centuries, Miranda, and spent much of that looking for some sign, anything, to bring back my faith. I tried. I traveled the world searching. And do you know what I saw?"

"What?" she asked softly, unsure how to deal with his sudden, complete honesty.

"I saw men raping women and children. I saw men killing each other in G.o.d's name. I saw greed and poverty and despair and murder of every conceivable kind. I learned that the loving Father I had yearned for wanted me to burn in h.e.l.l because I fell in love with the wrong kind of person. I saw ma.s.s murder, terrorism, genocide, oppression, and repression, and all of it, all of it, was dedicated to a G.o.d who seemed neither to notice nor care. So you tell me, Miranda. What should I believe?"

Miranda had tears in her eyes. She couldn't help it, thinking of all that had been done to an innocent child, and all that seemed to still be happening to him, in his memory, seven hundred years later. She could feel, even through his words, the pain that it caused him to feel betrayed by the belief system that had been his reason for living, once upon a time. "But you don't have to be Catholic," she said. "You don't have to define G.o.d by what his fan clubs do."

Deven smiled, and again her heart hurt for him. "It's too late for me, Miranda. Some doors, once closed, can never be opened again."

"What . . . what things could you do, that the monks condemned you for?"

As if beaten down by the irony of it, Deven's voice was stony and dull. "I'm a healer," he said. "I've cured the plague. I've reattached limbs. I've brought mortals and immortals both back from the very edge of death."

"That sounds like the kind of gift G.o.d would love," she said.

"G.o.d, perhaps. At least I like to think so. Man? Never. To men, G.o.d is a weapon. A stick to beat the souls of others into submission. A blade to stab and bleed anyone with power of her own. If there is a G.o.d, he has abandoned us all to fear and eventual despair. But in the end, what does it matter to us? Nowhere is it written that heaven would open its doors to a vampire."

He met Miranda's eyes. "We're alone, Miranda. Our kind have no savior, no paradise to look forward to. Some of us do evil, so perhaps they'll go to h.e.l.l, but for those of us who don't . . . we're no less d.a.m.ned. But perhaps our d.a.m.nation is worse, for all I can see ahead is nothingness. No G.o.d, no devil, nothing. Just an eternity wandering the outer darkness."

"Wow," Miranda said. "I think you may be the most pessimistic person I've ever met."

"Thank you."

"But you're wrong," she told him. "We're not alone. We have each other. You have Jonathan, and I have David. Maybe the reason we have soul mates is to make the darkness easier to face . . . forever."

Deven gave her a slightly patronizing smile. "Oh, don't worry. You won't have to worry about it forever. Now that you have a Signet I give you, say, two hundred years."

With that, he pushed himself up off the couch and, taking the half-empty whiskey bottle with him, left her alone in the study with even more unpleasant thoughts than she'd come in with.

"I talked to Deven," Miranda said, falling into step beside David.

The Prime gave her a once-over. "I don't see any blood, so I a.s.sume it went well?"

"As well as can be expected."

They walked together along the main street of the Shadow District downtown, while all around them the usual hubbub of a Sat.u.r.day night in the city flashed and b.u.mped and laughed from the open doors of bars and clubs. The vampires of Austin were out in droves tonight, and though most avoided the Pair's gaze and simply bowed as they pa.s.sed by, a few made eye contact and called greetings.

David paused here and there to visit with club owners or other businesspeople in the area and in some cases introduced her to people she hadn't had the chance to meet; even those who looked at her with some suspicion were friendly to her face, and she tried to be as gracious as possible to lure them into thinking her harmless. She preferred the element of surprise.

Clearly some of them had heard about Hart and kept their distance from her or spoke very vaguely about their business dealings, in case she should deem them immoral or illegal on a whim. Miranda found that hilarious but held her tongue.

Between visits she told David more about her conversation with the Prime. "I still can't say I like him . . . but I understand him a little better now. I just wish he weren't so fatalistic-especially about G.o.d."

David looked at her and said curiously, "I didn't realize you were religious."

"I'm not, really. I never really felt called to that kind of thing except for some experiments in college. But Deven is different. He needs that belief. If he could find it again, he might be able to finally heal-he's spent seven centuries as a miserable b.a.s.t.a.r.d because he lost his faith."

The Prime nodded. "I agree with you. But I don't think it's totally lost; I just think he's been unable to reconcile what he's seen with what he wants to believe about G.o.d. He's been alive a very long time, beloved. His perspective is broad, yes, but it's also deeply flawed."

"What did he mean when he said I had two hundred years?"

"The longest a Prime has held a Signet was three hundred twenty years-one hundred without a Queen, two hundred twenty with her."

"So the truth is, even though we're immortal because we're vampires, we'll still die because we're Signet bearers."

"Eventually, yes. An ordinary vampire could stay out of sight, live quietly. We can't do that. We'll always be in the public eye, always a target for someone who wants to take our place." David just shrugged and offered a smile. "But I have every intention of living at least that long, my darling. I hope that's all right with you. I'm determined to see the future of society no matter how it turns out."

"Why? What could be so great that you'd wait three centuries to see it?"

He looked over at her again, the uncharacteristically youthful earnestness on his face so adorable that she started to giggle. When he replied it was as if the answer should have been perfectly obvious. "Are you kidding? Vampires in s.p.a.ce!"

Miranda's giggles redoubled, and she had to stop and kiss him. "I love you, you big geek."

After the events of the past week David had suggested it was a good time for the two of them to take a walk, making their presence known to the Shadow World, to remind everyone who was in charge. They had arranged to meet Deven and Jonathan at the Black Door, a popular hunting ground and dance club, to end the evening; the Pair would be on their way back to California the next night, their state visit officially concluded and considered a success from a diplomatic standpoint.

Personally, though, it didn't seem anything had concluded successfully. So far David and Deven hadn't had any sort of serious talk about their relations.h.i.+p, and Miranda still wanted to punch Deven in the face. She didn't feel at all satisfied with how things had gone, but there was no help for it; a Pair couldn't be away from home for long without chaos breaking out in their territory.

But, she reasoned, it wasn't like they were getting any older. At least now David had admitted there were things to resolve instead of pretending it was all fine and dandy between him and Deven. That was a start.

"I love this city," David was saying, looking up at the buildings that rose on either side of them. "Its energy, its people . . . I don't even mind the blistering summers. I'm proud of what I've accomplished here."

"You should be," she replied. "After what I've learned about the other Primes and what life is like in their territories-for humans and vampires alike-I can see what an amazing leader you are."

He smiled and put his arm around her as they walked. "And just think . . . soon the world will speak of you the same way, and our legacy together will be one of peace through strength. They'll see our tenure as the moment when the Shadow World began to evolve past its primitive history and become something greater."

"Hopefully my legacy will include a string of platinum alb.u.ms," Miranda laughed. "If I can ever get this one finished." She grew serious for a minute and said, "You know . . . I've learned a lot the last three months, but I think the most important thing so far is how lucky I am."

He lifted her hand and kissed it. "You and I both."

Miranda had never been into dance clubs-she preferred the sort of place where there was live music and less techno-but she was quite fond of the Black Door. At first it had bothered her knowing what the place was for. The term "hunting ground" wasn't a euphemism; humans came to dance and drink, and vampires came to feed. Everything about the club drew mortals in: There was no cover charge, and drinks were deliberately priced below the Sixth Street average; the place was clean and s.p.a.cious and had a huge dance floor surrounded by a second level of tables and booths. It had two bars, one above and one below, and the music was slightly quieter on the second level. It was one of the most popular clubs in Austin, found purely through word of mouth-no advertising, no website.

What the humans didn't know was that there was a separate entrance for vampires. A limited number were allowed in at a time, and security kept a close eye both on them and on humans leaving the club. A vampire who made any trouble was permanently barred from entry. If a human displayed any sign of injury beyond the usual fatigue and confusion of being bitten, he or she was immediately given a cab to a nearby clinic, which, of course, was also run by the Signet. Great care was taken to ensure that the mortal patrons had no reason to complain and every reason to tell their friends about the awesome place where they'd danced the night away.

It seemed so . . . manipulative and wrong, like a factory farm, and Miranda had refused to have any part of it until David had persuaded her to go one night and she had seen firsthand how it was all managed. In any other territory things might be very different, but this was the South. The Prime would not allow his human charges to be molested. Vampires needed to feed, and the Shadow World had to remain a secret. Austin had a dense vampire population, and somehow all those vampires had to be fed discreetly; if they were unsatisfied for long, they began to get angry at the authority that kept them from killing, and that was how gangs and rebellions were born.

They walked to the front of the human line; David used the front entrance so that everyone inside would know the Signet was in attendance. The doorman took one look at them, bowed, and unclipped the velvet rope to let them in.

The ba.s.s began to pound its way into her body as they crossed the threshold and walked down the short hallway that led into the club. She shot David a grin, and he kissed her hand one last time before releasing her. Miranda squared off her shoulders, drew her power around her like a cloak, bolstered her s.h.i.+elds, and strode into the club with her Signet out where every vampire would see it and know her for their Queen.

The Black Door was packed. Only months ago the sheer weight of all those minds rubbing against hers would have sent Miranda to the ground screaming, but she was no longer human and no longer afraid. She nodded to the security staff as they pa.s.sed; sometimes those who didn't make the Elite but still scored high in the tryouts were offered jobs at Signet-owned establishments, and a few made their way to the Haven after proving themselves here. She recognized a few faces.

Not far inside, Lali fell into step behind her, along with Aaron, one of the other two bodyguards. Miranda had offered Lali bereavement leave after Jake was declared dead, but Lali wouldn't have it. Jake, she had said, was devoted to his job, and she was going to honor that devotion by doing her own. Miranda had hugged her, thanked her, and let Faith put her back on the rotation. They were going to have to a.s.sign another guard so that they'd have even pairs; Faith said she would go back over the candidates who hadn't been picked and submit her recommendation by Monday.

As a matter of fact, Faith was here tonight; Miranda let her gaze meander from one end of the Door's vast s.p.a.ce to the other, and she caught sight of Faith not far away, sipping a martini and talking with another Elite. Faith looked devastatingly gorgeous: For once she was out of uniform, in a short green dress with her hair out of its braids and pulled up on top of her head. Miranda wished, sometimes, that she could pull off the glamorous look Faith did without any apparent effort.

Then, of course, there was Deven.

Miranda wasn't looking for him, but she happened to glance over at her Prime and noticed he was staring off at something. She knew without asking what that something was and followed his gaze to the dance floor.

Sure enough, the Prime of the West was in the center of the crowd, surrounded by both men and women who seemed unable to take their eyes off him. He was currently pressed up against a pet.i.te blond woman . . . and a striking dark-haired boy of perhaps twenty. Deven was back to his usual wardrobe, this time a black jacket over a dark gray s.h.i.+rt, his Signet visible amid the rest of his jewelry, the allure around him as intense as it had been that night in the alley.

The look on David's face was unmistakable, and it filled Miranda's heart with shards of ice: hunger. In that moment he wanted more than anything in the world to be at Deven's side, or better yet, pinning him to the wall with deep, hard kisses.

"I'm going to get someone to drink," she said, not giving David time to protest as she tore herself from his side and made her way to the bar. She intended to get one of the mixed drinks that the Black Door specialized in-the kind with blood in it-but when she saw Jonathan at the bar, she decided she was more interested in getting blind drunk than anything else at the moment.

"My Lady," Jonathan said, raising his beer in salute. "s.h.i.+ner?"

"I think I need something a little stronger," she replied, motioning to the bartender, who set aside the row of drinks he was making and came for her order instantly. She asked for a shot of Patron.

Jonathan frowned. "Tequila," he said. "That doesn't bode well. What's wrong?"

She gestured out at the dance floor. "Something about my husband dancing with someone else makes me want to rip that someone's little pixie head off. Sorry, Jonathan. I guess I'm just not as evolved as you."

"Actually, he's not," Jonathan said, looking out at the floor. "He's looking for you."

Miranda turned to see that Deven was still by himself, though now one of the s.e.xy mortals in his bevy of admirers had two tiny holes in his neck that were swiftly closing; meanwhile, David was standing next to Faith, but his deep blue eyes were scanning the crowd, and when his eyes met Miranda's, he broke out into a smile.

Her heart climbed back up from where it had sunk into her feet, and she smiled back, knocked back her shot, and left the empty gla.s.s on the bar.

Jonathan was chuckling to himself and shook his head. "Jealousy doesn't become you, Miranda. Especially when it's totally unfounded."

Bristling, Miranda walked away without answering, but if he'd been a telepath her reply would have been crystal clear: Blindness isn't particularly attractive either.

She might be young and new to her Signet, but she was well aware that she was one of the strongest empaths among her kind, and she knew quite well there was nothing unfounded about her jealousy, becoming or otherwise. But it seemed that a certain amount of denial was just a part of the Pair's relations.h.i.+p, and she wasn't going to disillusion Jonathan. She liked him too much. If he was content to go on pretending it really didn't bother him, well, so be it.