Shadowflame (21 page)

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 balls, then find Miranda and hug her—to hell 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 shift, 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 hell 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 assassin’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 password 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 identity 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 assassin.

A third grunt, betraying no surprise.

David glanced over at Faith, who stood in front of the door, arms crossed, listening impassively. 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 Washington 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 assassin 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 Washington 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 assassin; 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 faggot 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 ass 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 dick, boy. I’m talking about the Firstborn.”

Whatever threat David had intended to deliver died on his lips, and he blinked in confusion at the smith, who looked smugly satisfied at his reaction.

“Firstborn,” David repeated. “That’s ridiculous. They’re a myth.”

“Oh, are they?”

“Volundr,” David told him, smiling a little, “you’re not going to distract me with fairy tales. I can see that you take me for a fool, but I’m afraid you’re wrong . . . and you’re wrong in thinking that you have nothing to say to me. An hour from now you’re going to have a lot to say.”

The Prime flicked his hand, and Volundr flew back against the wall again, this time pinned a foot off the ground by the force of David’s power.

David looked at the man, trying to maintain his dispassion, but beneath it, dreading the next few hours.
Just talk. Don’t make me do this.

He moved close enough that he was only a foot away from Volundr and held the smith’s eyes. “You are giving me no choice,” he said quietly. “I will protect my Queen and my territory at all cost, and I know that you know the name of the assassin. Whatever she’s offered you in return for your silence . . . it won’t be worth what comes next.”

Volundr was still calm. “I don’t know who it is,” he said.

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t know who it is,” he said again, this time with a faint touch of anger. “And I’m not giving up any names. People pay me to build things and keep them secret. No bratty little upstart with a Signet is gonna get me to break two hundred years of silence. I answer to people way more important to you. You won’t dare wake them up.”

David stepped back, nodding. “All right, Volundr. I understand your position. But there’s one piece of advice I should probably have given you before we began.”

Volundr sucked in a pained breath as the first of his fingers snapped backward.

David crossed his arms, and each word was punctuated with the dull sound of breaking bone as he said, “Never . . . ever . . . dare me.”

A few days of unseasonable . . . or seasonable, as it turned out . . . warmth unfolded gently over the Haven, and finally Cora felt strong enough, and brave enough, to go outside and see the world for herself.

She had heard the servants talking about this year’s cold weather. Winter in Texas was apparently about as mild as that of Italy, but this year there had been ice already and there might even be snow before January at this rate. Mostly the servants seemed upset about the volume of firewood they were burning through.

They didn’t talk much to Cora directly, but she was gradually picking up more of their language thanks to the computing machine in her room and its language discs. Mostly she listened, rather than speaking; she learned so much more that way . . . and not just about English.

Something had gone terribly wrong here in the last month. She knew that even before she caught snatches of conversation here and there that affirmed the tension she could practically taste in the air. She could feel the change even before she asked one of the door guards if Prime Deven was taking visitors, only to be informed that the Prime had departed the night before. The guard’s tone suggested she not make further inquiries, but she caught something in the words, some . . . faint embarrassment, almost. She went over the conversation in her mind and decided that the man was not embarrassed about Deven himself, but about something that had happened to cause the Prime’s premature exit from the Haven. Cora didn’t know what to make of it.

So she went outside.

She asked the guards if it was all right, but these days they barely seemed to notice her comings and goings, and that was fine with her; she had explored the house pretty thoroughly, but what really interested her were the grounds and gardens, and one night during the warm spell she decided now was the time. She put on her newest discovery—blue jeans—her hooded sweatshirt, and the soft shoes the Elite had lent her, and left her room.

The closest exterior door she had found on her wanderings let her out in the back gardens near a wide trail that she guessed was for the horses. A fence ran alongside it, bordering a pasture.

She stayed with her back against the wall for a moment, getting used to the broad expanse of the night sky and the sheer openness of the world in front of her. Her heart was pounding with fear—it felt so exposed, so wrong—and she very nearly gave up and fled back to the safety of her room.

No. I have lived my life afraid.

Biting her lip, Cora pushed herself off the wall and took a few halting steps forward, then a few more. Neither the hand of God nor a lightning strike smote her where she stood. A few more steps and she reached the pasture fence, to which she clung for a moment, panting.

“Better,” she murmured. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, girl.”

She heard a muted, thumping sort of noise growing nearer, along with the rustle of grass. When she lifted her head, she yelped and leapt backward.

An enormous black horse was standing on the other side of the fence, staring at her with a distinct look of amusement in its round, dark eyes.

It had been many years since Cora had seen a horse up close, but she’d been familiar with them once, and as soon as the shock of such a huge animal sneaking up on her wore off, she moved back to the fence, looking the animal over as it looked her over.

“You’re lovely,” she said to the horse with a quick look to discern that it was, in fact, a female. “A lovely lady.”

The horse seemed to agree with Cora and dipped her head to rip up a mouthful of grass. It was strange that she should be out at night; could horses see in the dark, Cora wondered? There were lights along the trail, and enough were lit that to Cora’s eyes it was nearly as bright as day, but she wondered how odd it must be for such animals to live according to a vampire’s schedule.

Cora reached through the fence with one arm, gesturing for the horse to come to her; black ears flicked in response, and the horse’s plate-sized hooves clomped toward the fence.

The horse inclined her head and gave Cora’s hand an imperious sniff, then allowed Cora to scratch her between the eyes.

“It’s a miracle,” someone said wryly.

Cora jumped but managed not to cry out this time, and she twisted around to see the uniformed woman who had come up behind her and was now watching her with surprise in her almond-shaped eyes.

“Her name is Isis,” Faith said. “She bites.”

Cora looked back at the horse. “She is very proud.”

Faith chuckled. “That’s putting it mildly. Only a handful of people have ever gotten that close to her, and it’s never her idea. She must like you.”

Isis gave Faith a look of mild disdain and then ignored her, permitting Cora to continue petting her head and neck. “Were you looking for me?” Cora asked Faith. She had to speak slowly to keep the English organized in her head, but Faith didn’t appear to have a problem understanding her.

“Yes. I know that with everything that’s been going on you’ve gotten a bit lost in the shuffle, so I wanted to check on you and see if you need anything.”

Cora frowned and decided to take the plunge. “What has happened?”