Shadowflame Part 19

"Anything," he said. "I would do anything for you."

"Okay," she replied, touching her forehead to his. "The first thing you can do is take a shower."

"Yes . . ." He wiped his eyes, seeming bewildered by the display of emotion that had escaped his habitual walls, and got to his feet.

She felt so hollow inside, and still weak; she hadn't been ready for this. She tried to stand, too, and couldn't. David saw her struggling and reached down to lift her.

Miranda stood, hands on his arms. "Let me help you to bed," he said.

"Not yet. First, I'm going with you." She fixed a stony, but not angry, stare into his eyes. "I want to do it myself."

He didn't fully understand, but didn't argue, and helped her to the bathroom, then stepped back to see what she had been talking about.

She took a deep breath. "Turn the water on. Hot."

He obeyed.

Miranda nodded and came over to him, unb.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt without touching his skin; she couldn't touch him, not yet. He let her without protest or comment.

Fighting her weariness, she unzipped his jeans, and finished stripping him slowly and clinically, taking each item of clothing and dropping it in the trash.

Then she removed her own, her tank top and yoga pants going into a pile on the floor. When they were both naked, she nudged him toward the shower.

The steam made her dizzy, but she was too intent on her task to give in to her body's desire to curl up and sleep. She pushed him into the water spray, for once not pausing to enjoy the sight of hot water cascading down over his body; instead, she took washcloth and soap and, with deliberate slowness, washed him from head to foot, scrubbing some places hard enough to leave the skin raw.

There had been a few bruises lingering on his flesh, but by the time she was finished they were gone, as was the faint black eye that she had given him. He stood perfectly still, moving only when instructed, until she was satisfied that nothing of Deven remained on his body, and every last inch of him was clean.

"Get out and dry off," she told him. "Then go to bed."

He had questions but didn't ask them. He only did what he was told.

She gave herself the same treatment, only robotically, her body numb to her own touch and the slickness of the soap. It was her favorite scent, but she couldn't smell it. As she washed, tears streamed from her eyes again, another surge of impotent anger and agony hitting her. She sagged back against the shower wall, washcloth still in her hand, and folded up on herself, sinking to her knees with the water hitting her in the head, dragging her hair into her face as she cried, and shook, until the wave had pa.s.sed.

She took her time drying and putting on clean clothes. She returned to the bedroom, where he was waiting in bed, lying on his side facing her without making eye contact.

She considered sleeping on the couch, or making him do it, but something inside her started keening at the thought and she was too wrung out from tears to make herself face the morning in an empty bed. Wordlessly, she climbed in on her side, pulling the covers up around her. David waited for her to indicate it was okay to touch her, but she ignored him and rolled over to face the wall. Couch or no couch, she might as well have been across the ocean.

Neither of them slept.

Only Faith showed up the next night at midnight to officially bid the West farewell. She was surprised, and made deeply uneasy, by the way the Prime had ordered her to see them off, with no explanation; he didn't sound like himself at all, and it wasn't like him to command her without giving her reasons.

When she saw Deven and Jonathan, she knew exactly what was going on.

Deven emerged from the Haven first, by himself, which was also weird; he nodded to her without smiling and got in the car, not even saying good-bye. He looked normal, for Deven, in leather coat and studs, a bit more casual this time with fingerless gloves against the chill, his nails freshly painted. He was as stoic as always, but something was missing that she couldn't quite put her finger on . . . until Jonathan came outside.

He wasn't smiling either. In fact, he glanced in Deven's direction and the almost undetectable flicker in his eyes gave it away, as did the way he looked back at the Haven as if he'd rather be staked and quartered than ever set foot inside again.

"Jonathan," Faith said, unable to keep to protocol any longer, "are you all right?"

He paused and gave her a smile that was lacking in its usual good humor. "Not particularly, Faith. But don't worry about us. We'll make it, I promise." He lifted his eyes to the Haven again. "Worry about your own house instead."

"Oh, no," she said. "You don't mean . . ."

"They're going to need you more than ever," he replied. "Promise me, Faith, that you'll do what you can to help them work things out. They could come through this stronger than before . . . and then, perhaps everything won't have gone to waste."

"You know I will," she said. "I promise."

"Good. Time to go home now . . . I hope we'll see you again someday."

With that Jonathan got in the car, and one of their Elite shut the door.

She watched the car pull away, unsure what to feel, but pretty sure she wanted to go kick David in the b.a.l.l.s, then find Miranda and hug her-to h.e.l.l with protocol and professionalism. What must the Queen be going through, if what Faith suspected was true? Miranda wasn't as jaded as the rest of them yet. She couldn't have seen it coming like Faith had. Half the Elite had been taking bets, since that evening in the training room when the two Primes had fought each other into a trance, on how long it would take them to wind up in bed together. But Miranda . . . she was so young, and had been a vampire and Queen for only a few months . . . and, from what Faith remembered, she didn't have much of a history with love. Faith had to check on her.

She went back into the building, intent on heading for the Pair's wing to see if she could find Miranda without making it too obvious that she was looking, but one of the other Elite caught sight of her and hurried over to her side.

"Lali," Faith said. "You're off s.h.i.+ft, aren't you? Why are you still in uniform?"

Lali was holding a familiar-looking metal case. "I've been waiting for you," she said. "The Prime sent me to town just after sunset to pick something up from Hunter Development. Doctor Novotny, the human researcher, had something for him-I mean, this. He said the results are inside on a thumb drive, and that I must deliver them only to you or the Pair, in person. But no one seems to know where the Prime is tonight, so I came to you."

"Thank you, Lali-I'll take it from here."

The bodyguard bowed and went her own way, no doubt to get out of uniform and relax with her violin.

Faith took the case with her to the Signet wing, but to her consternation neither Prime nor Queen were to be found in their suite, the music room, David's workroom, or any of their other usual haunts. She would have been alerted if they'd gone to town, so it stood to reason they were somewhere around the Haven, and given what was going on, chances were they weren't together.

"Star-one," she said into her com.

She was one of only a handful of Elite who had direct access to David's com; in some situations he granted temporary permission for one of the others to relay information to him, and of course he could listen in on anyone on the network whenever he wanted, but for the most part everything went through Faith. She, then, was one of the few who recognized the series of tones she heard as a message: The Prime was not talking to anyone, but she could basically leave him a voice mail, and he would listen to it when he felt like it. It was rare for him to use it, but she had heard it before.

"Sire," she said, "Elite Sixteen brought in the case that Doctor Novotny sent over. I'm leaving it in your workroom now. Star-three, out."

Faith also had clearance for the workroom, so she unlocked it and went inside, half expecting to find David there ignoring her previous knock.

He wasn't; the room was dark. She flipped on the lights and set the case down on the table, fully intending to leave it there without snooping; but technically she did have the authority to look inside, and the need to know what the h.e.l.l was going on in their city overrode the fear of highly unlikely reprisals from the Prime.

She flipped the case open and found what she expected: two wooden stakes and a knife, along with a USB drive containing all of Hunter's test results.

Faith noted the contrast between the two stakes: They appeared to be made out of a similar sort of wood, which was unremarkable. Certain woods were favored by vampire hunters because they were harder and more durable. The a.s.sa.s.sin's stake from the attack on Miranda, however, was traditionally carved; the other, Deven's, was an exquisitely crafted piece of weaponry. It was about half the size of the traditional stake and had a steel hilt that was weighted for throwing. From seeing its ilk before, she knew that the wood was fitted onto a steel shaft. The wood could be removed and replaced if it splintered or dulled, and the shaft inside helped it fly straighter and penetrate farther. Deven's weapons collection was a thing of beauty and had been gathered from all over the globe, but he commissioned the throwing stakes from his own design even down to the elaborate carving on the hilt.

The knife, on the other hand, was not the centuries-old implement that Novotny said had carved the Finnish woman's stake. It was a fairly nondescript blade, of decent quality but no real artistry. It had been used to stab Kat in the abdomen, and though the blood had been cleaned off, Faith could still imagine it seething with deadly purpose. Whoever this woman was, she knew a lot about Miranda and her friends, even that Kat was pregnant. It was just the sort of thing the Red Shadow was supposed to be paid to know.

Faith took the USB drive over to the bank of computers and interactive screens that performed various arcane functions for the Prime and plugged it in. She was no technological wizard, but the files inside were in pretty basic format, and she knew the pa.s.sword to unlock them.

Most of what she saw made no sense whatsoever. The lab had tested for a vast array of trace elements and volatile compounds, many of which could have come from anywhere in the city. Luckily, for the sake of those who, unlike David, didn't get their jollies reading chromatograms, there was an overview of the results and a chart that compared the numbers for all three weapons at a glance.

It was there, nestled among polysyllabic chemical names and ratios, that she saw it.

Faith stared at the data, rereading it, then again; but the facts didn't change.

Still staring, she raised her arm and said into her com, "Star-one."

When the same tones alerted her to the voice mail, she said, "Security override, authorization Star-three." The override would push her through to the Prime's com no matter where he was or what he was doing, and it would boost her signal to a practically earsplitting level. David had threatened mayhem if she ever used it, but there were times when mayhem was the least of her worries.

A recorded female voice informed her that her ident.i.ty and clearance were being confirmed; please wait.

"Security override granted."

Faith said, as clearly as possible, "Sire, this is Faith. I'm in the workroom with Novotny's results. You need to come down here right now." She looked over at the box with its trio of deadly weapons. "There's something here you need to see."

PART TWO.

Lilith's Blade.

Eleven.

The squatty little man reminded David very strongly of a toad. His eyes were beady and small, his mouth a long line in a broad, flat face; he might hit David's shoulder if they stood back-to-back, but he was about three times as wide. He had long arms and his torso was heavily muscled from wielding hammers and other heavy implements for two hundred years.

David stared at him, and he stared right back, indifferent to his surroundings or his interrogator.

"So you're Volundr," David said.

A grunted affirmative.

"I imagine you're wondering why we brought you here."

Another grunt. The man's voice was deep and . . . well, croaky. "Got something to do with the stakes."

"Yes, it does. I have a few questions for you about these."

David gestured to his left, at the table where Faith had placed the stake that had been shot at Miranda and the one that Deven had thrown at the a.s.sa.s.sin.

A third grunt, betraying no surprise.

David glanced over at Faith, who stood in front of the door, arms crossed, listening impa.s.sively. It had taken three weeks to find this man and get him to Austin-three weeks and the cooperation of the West, who had extradited him from Was.h.i.+ngton state where he had dwelt in the forest in a dim little house and forge for centuries. David wasn't sure how the Pair had convinced Volundr to surrender quietly; he was clearly not the type to be easily intimidated.

David picked up the first stake. "This was fired from a miniaturized speargun at my Queen," he said. "It's been identified as silver birch from Lapland. The second one belonged to Prime Deven of the West. The Prime identifies you as the man who crafted the interior shaft and hilt, then carved the wood tips for him . . . out of silver birch. We've confirmed that these two stakes not only are the same kind of wood, they came from the same exact forest."

"Coincidence," Volundr said with a shrug.

"Right." David laid the stake back down in its foam casing. "A search of your property turned up about nine different kinds of wood in addition to all the metals you work with-most were just firewood, but two, the birch and a supply of coastal redwood, are known for their use in battleready stakes. Silver birch, however, isn't typical of the Pacific Northwest. Where did you get it?"

He shrugged again.

"Did a woman from Finland supply you with it when you made stakes for her?"

Nothing.

"Sir," David said, letting a little hardness enter his voice, "I feel I've been very patient up to this point. We are trying to catch a killer in my territory. I know you're not the killer because you're neither female nor athletic-I don't doubt your strength with the hammer, but you're hardly a.s.sa.s.sin material. The birch that we found on your property matches these two stakes exactly. You are without a doubt connected to all of this."

"What do you want, boy?" Volundr finally asked. "What do I have to tell you so you'll have your little toy soldiers take me home to my work?"

"I want a list of your clients."

Volundr looked at David in silence for a moment before he laughed out loud; it was a brash, unpleasant sound that nearly made David flinch. "If this girl is such a problem for you, maybe she threatened me and I'm too scared to talk."

David raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, come on."

"Or maybe I don't know this girl," Volundr went on. "Maybe I bought the wood from the same dealer as her and you're wasting my time."

David exhaled slowly. He'd been expecting about as much. "You do understand that until I get a satisfactory answer you'll be held here."

A flicker of reaction. The smith didn't like being away from home; that much was clear. He probably hadn't traveled out of Was.h.i.+ngton as long as he'd been living there. He wasn't a psychically strong vampire, living as he did in the middle of nowhere away from a steady supply of human blood, but he was physically strong and his skills were in high demand. He was one of three weapons crafters that Deven trusted with his own designs, and Deven had not been at all pleased to bring Volundr in for questioning; he had agreed, however, as something of a peace offering.

Yet peace was not to be found . . . not here. David had let Faith arrange everything. David had spoken to Deven exactly twice since the Pair had returned to the West: once, when Faith's realization about the two stakes drove David to call Deven and essentially accuse him of collusion with the a.s.sa.s.sin; and again, when David called to apologize after Faith-and Miranda, who had maintained a remarkably level head about the whole thing-pointed out that Deven had no motive whatsoever to kill Miranda, as doing so would kill David, too . . . and, the truth was, if Deven wanted Miranda dead, she already would be.

Deven's acceptance of his apology had been icy and insincere, but out of hurt, not anger. David now had one more sin to add to the growing list of wrongs against those he professed to love.

He stared at the smith for a moment before saying, "All I want are names, Volundr. Give me a list of people who might be the woman I'm after, and you can go back to work."

"I have no loyalty to the South."

"What about the West? Surely the Prime's money has bought your loyalty over the years."

Volundr shook his head. "Little f.a.ggot invaded my house and turned me over to you. I don't owe him sh-"

The end of the sentence turned into another grunt as the smith flew backward, slammed into the far wall of the interrogation room, and landed on his a.s.s on the stone floor.

The Prime waited until he'd struggled to his feet to say, "We can do this the easy way, Volundr, or the fun way. I'll be the first one to tell you I'd find a great deal of satisfaction in dislocating all of your joints one by one, or possibly peeling the skin from your back and pouring acid on your muscle tissue . . . but I respect you as a craftsman and I would hate to see one of the most talented of your trade treated in such an undignified manner."

Yet another shrug. "I'll heal. I got nothing to say to you, boy."

"I'm older than you," David snapped, losing just a tiny bit of his patience-he'd had precious little of it these past few weeks, and what was left was wearing perilously thin. "And my respect only goes so far. If you want this to hurt, it can hurt. You know very well what I'm capable of, Volundr-you're no stranger to the Signets. Give me what I want or I start with your fingers."

"I'm not afraid of that glowing rock round your neck," Volundr said, still disturbingly undisturbed about the prospect of bodily harm. "You think you're the biggest power in the world? You're hardly out of diapers. I know power a hundred times older than you . . . sleeping in the rocks of the earth."

David sighed. "You're not going to give me some poetic tripe about stones and steel and the might of your anvil, are you? That's just pathetically phallic."

"I'm not talking about my d.i.c.k, boy. I'm talking about the Firstborn."