Part 1 (1/2)

SHADOWFLAME.

by Dianne Sylvan.

To Red, who opened the first door, and to Meredith, who opened the second.

PART ONE.

Exile from Eden.

One.

Autumn that year came in like a lion and devoured the last few straggling moments of an endless, scorching summer. Storms swept through central Texas and scoured the world clean of dust and dried gra.s.s. The entire city seemed to come alive once the burden of heat was lifted.

The nights were already chilly the first week of October when the last known member of the Blackthorn gang sprinted in terror through the streets of Austin, searching for someone, anyone, who would shelter him.

Door after door slammed in his face. No one in the Shadow World was stupid enough to take him in . . . not tonight. Bars closed early, windows went dark, and the wind's icy fingers s.n.a.t.c.hed all hope of escape from the city's empty streets. Only a fool would look outside tonight. Only a fool would get involved.

The Signet was on the hunt.

Desperate, he ran for the heavily populated areas of downtown, hoping to get lost in the mortal crowd, unaware that across the city his low body temperature and preternatural speed were being tracked by a bank of computers that sent out his coordinates every five seconds. There was nowhere he could go now without a target flas.h.i.+ng on his every move.

”Status report.”

Faith's voice was fierce even through the digital ether. ”Rabbit is approaching the eastern corner of Fifth and Trinity. Move to intercept?”

From her perch atop the restaurant across the intersection, the Queen of the Southern United States watched the streets with her eyes narrowed, sweeping the area with her senses. She stood with one foot up on the low wall around the roof's perimeter and held her hair back out of her face with one hand. Her breath came in smoky clouds, slow and calm, as she waited, patient, unhurried.

Human traffic was high even for a Thursday. Their quarry had no doubt come this way precisely for that reason, believing that the Elite wouldn't want to cause a scene.

”Hold your position,” she replied into her com just as a thin shape darted around the corner, weaving his way among the people on the sidewalk, trying not to look like he was on the run.

He crossed Trinity against the light, narrowly avoiding a bus, intent on reaching the side nearest her, which was far less busy, darker, and located conveniently near an underground access point. She let him cross and waited.

Finally, when he thought he might be safe and slowed his pace, she vaulted over the side of the building. The air rushed past her for two stories, and she twisted in midair to land, her boots striking the pavement solidly.

She straightened, tossing her hair back over her shoulders, the wind catching her coat and whipping it back to expose her throat. When the rabbit saw what was around her neck he froze and went ghostly white.

He spun around to run back the way he had come, but he was surrounded. Behind him Faith crossed her arms and smiled.

He faced Miranda an inch away from panic.

”Would you like to beg?” she asked.

Mindless survival instinct gripped him and he threw himself at her, snarling.

She laughed, stepped to the side, and caught him in the face with a fist. He landed sprawling with an animal cry of fear and pain and scrambled back to his feet, trying to gain some kind of advantage when there was none to gain. He took a swing at her, and she blocked it easily, twisting to punch him in the gut and again in the head.

He stumbled but didn't fall; he was no weakling, though it clearly surprised him that she wasn't either. Obviously he hadn't listened to the whispers that had rolled slowly through the Shadow World like an oncoming storm for the past three months . . . or he'd heard the stories and dismissed them, as no mere woman could be so strong.

He was learning differently now. She ducked another hit, this one more reckless. His fear was beginning to show.

She liked that.

She spun around and kicked him in the head, and he went down but immediately forced himself back to his feet despite the blood flowing from his nose and mouth. He was clearly dazed, but desperation drove him to try again and again, only to be beaten back by a laughing Queen who hadn't even broken a sweat.

There were humans nearby, approaching from the east. Distractedly she bent her will toward them and gave them a mental nudge to turn left instead of right. By the time they realized they were headed in the wrong direction, there would be nothing to see.

She moved closer to the rabbit until she was only a few feet from him, allowing her power to swell around her. He let out a whimper and fell back.

”Kneel before your Queen,” she hissed.

He dropped to his knees, sobbing incoherently in her shadow.

”A fine display from a man who killed two of my Elite during the war,” she said. ”You were a key player in the gang, Jackson. We know who you are and have a list of your crimes. You've eluded capture this long only because you hid like a coward while your friends died in your place. But not anymore.”

At the sound of her sword being drawn from its sheath, Jackson fell down on his elbows, clapping his hands over the back of his neck. Now he decided to beg; he blamed the others in the gang, especially Ariana and Bethany Blackthorn, for forcing him to kill. He wasn't responsible, they were; he was only following orders.

She'd heard it all a dozen times in the last few months, and she knew every time, as she did now, that it was a lie.

”You disappoint me,” she told him. ”Worse? You bore me.” She kicked him again, this time in the side, so he instinctively moved his arms down to protect his stomach and left his neck exposed. With a single graceful swing she beheaded him and leapt back in time to avoid the gush of blood that bathed the sidewalk scarlet as his body toppled over.

Dark, grim satisfaction warmed her as the body twitched into stillness. The head had landed faceup, its eyes gaping open in shock, mouth slack.

She leaned down, seized the edge of Jackson's jacket, and used it to wipe her sword before sheathing the blade. She would need to clean it thoroughly when she got home; Sophie had taught her never to let a blade go to rest still bloodied . . . not to mention that the sword itself had once belonged to Sophie, and Miranda could practically hear the diminutive vampire's acerbic voice every time she was tempted not to treat the weapon with the respect it was due.

She looked up at Faith, who was smiling ferally. ”Cleanup on aisle three,” Miranda said.

Faith gestured to the rest of her team. They knew the procedure: Take the body and the head up on the roof of a nearby building where it would be exposed to the sun at dawn but not likely found by any pa.s.sing mortal. Tap into the hydrant nearby to spray off the blood. Hopefully after tonight it would be the last time they'd have to go through the routine for a while.

She stood watching for a moment while they worked, and Faith joined her. ”You're getting disturbingly good at this kind of thing,” the Second said quietly. ”I'm still not used to seeing it.”

Miranda smiled. ”What's even more disturbing is that I'm not disturbed at all.”

Faith shrugged. ”I recall you saying that first night: This is your work now.”

The Queen thought back to the battle at the Haven and the long night of cleanup and casualties that had followed. Faith had wanted her to go and rest. She had declined and instead stepped into her role without hesitation, organizing the Elite to burn the dead and patch up the wounded, leaving the Prime to restore the network and deal with the damage to the building itself. It had been nearly sunrise before either of them had stood still.

”Where is our Lord and Master tonight?” Faith asked. ”Shouldn't he have been out here, too?”

”No,” the Queen replied, eyes on Jackson's headless corpse as two Elite maneuvered it onto a plastic sheet to carry it away. ”He had an appointment. It's best if I handle this anyway-I want my presence known.”

”I think you've succeeded there.” Faith nodded toward the scene. ”We've got this if you need to go.”

”Good. I'll see you back at the Haven. Have the night's final report on the server before you code off s.h.i.+ft.”