Part 9 (1/2)
By the time they were packed up and ready to go, it was twenty till three. Miranda was grateful for the freezing cold air outside; she was sweaty and sleepy and the chill perked her up a little.
Harlan was already parked out in front of the studio, along with the second Haven car for Lali and Jake. Jake, who had been on front door duty, stowed her guitar in the Town Car's trunk. While it was open Miranda fetched a bottle of water from the pack that was always there, in a small cooler that typically held an emergency supply of blood as well. She also took a moment to put on her coat and strap her sword in its place on her hip. She'd been reluctant to take the blade inside the studio in case someone noticed it and raised awkward questions.
”I'll get you the demo CD for the songs where we need a violin,” Miranda told Lali. ”If you're on board, I'll pay you whatever the going hourly studio rate is plus a bonus.”
Lali looked thrilled and was about to reply, but Miranda held up a hand to shush her, lowering her water bottle and staring hard into the night.
What had she heard?
She concentrated, extending her senses around the parking lot and the intersection adjacent to the studio, sweeping the area for anomalies as she tried to hear the noise again. Her hearing could catch sounds half a mile away, and if she focused her energy on a particular location, she could pick up conversation at more than twice that distance.
It came again, this time clear as a bell: a woman screaming.
Miranda was off and running before either of the guards could react.
Adrenaline surged through her body, and she let her muscles take over for her brain, carrying her faster than even an Olympic sprinter. The streets were nearly empty at this hour, the sounds of traffic distant in this neighborhood tucked away off Lamar Boulevard. She made it to Lamar in seconds, then across, snaking between cars whose drivers could barely see her as she closed in on a spot that burned in her mind with fear and violence.
A quarter mile later Miranda skidded to a halt, drawing her sword, her mind and senses both spinning in a circle as they tried to take in the scene before her.
A woman in a business suit was on the ground, sobbing, the contents of her purse strewn around her. Her hair had been ripped loose from its clip, and her lip was bleeding where she'd been hit. Her clothes were in disarray and she had lost one of her pumps.
The Queen's gaze lifted from the woman, and her heart seemed to thud onto the scene as her feet had moments ago, lumbering to a stop in her chest.
In the watery glare of the streetlight a figure stood over the struggling form of a man. The human, a thirty something white male with eyes huge and rolling in panic, scrabbled uselessly at the sidewalk, trying to escape the black leather boot placed squarely on his neck.
”Step away from the human,” Miranda commanded, letting her powers flare around her. That alone should have warned the standing figure away, and the sight of a woman holding a sword ought to have at least surprised him.
He merely looked at her, chin tilted slightly to the left, as if translating her words into a foreign language.
Staring back at him, Miranda felt a slow quake of unease in her stomach . . . unease and recognition.
He looked like little more than a teenager, but the shadows in his blue-lavender eyes spoke of great age, of a creature older than she could even imagine now that she, too, was immortal. The way he held himself was regal and proud, as one born to the crown.
It was something of a contrast with his wardrobe. He wore black leather: a coat down to his knees, pants, and boots nearly as tall as the coat was long, covered in buckles and rivets. Several pounds of silver jewelry adorned his neck, hands, and face; his eyebrow, nose, and ear were all pierced, the eyebrow three times. His fingernails were painted black, and black perfectly outlined his large, long-lashed eyes. Spiky dark hair over a high-cheekboned, ivory face gave him the look of a punk angel, just as likely to be Lucifer as Gabriel.
He was absolutely beautiful, both ethereal and sensual . . . and so powerful Miranda had to steel herself not to take a step back.
”I am the Queen of this territory,” she said, pus.h.i.+ng iron into her voice and energy into her aura. Her Signet brightened with her words. ”You will do as I say.”
Vampires and humans both had quailed before that tone of her voice. A few had bolted. Several had cried.
He simply looked at her a moment longer, then lifted one hand and opened one side of his coat.
The streetlamp caught the gleaming edge of a sword concealed inside, as well as at least three other knives and what might have been a throwing star.
That, however, wasn't what sent Miranda's pulse skyrocketing.
At his throat, nestled in among the chains and a heavy silver ankh, was an amulet set with a huge emerald.
The stone was glowing.
Slowly, deliberately, Miranda lowered her sword.
Slowly, deliberately, he closed his coat.
”All right,” she said. ”Who the h.e.l.l are you?”
Ignoring the question, he smiled. She noticed the pointed canines. ”At last . . . the flame of the South.”
He had a gentle voice that still carried to her easily. Something about it, and about the smile, offered up a realization that she didn't especially want, and she nodded, the pieces falling into place.
”My Lord,” she said.
He bowed slightly. ”My Lady.”
The Prime of California had arrived.
Six.
”My Lady! Are you all right?”
Lali came thundering around the corner, ready to fling herself into peril on her Queen's behalf, and nearly ran smack into Miranda. A few beats behind her, David and Faith appeared, both coming to an abrupt halt on either side of the Queen, both staring at their . . . visitor.
”Holy c.r.a.p,” she heard Faith mutter.
Completely oblivious to the injured woman or the still-struggling man, David broke out into a grin and walked forward, laughing. ”Sire,” the Prime said, ”it's good to see you again.”
”It's good to be seen.”
David held out his hand, but the other Prime reached up, pulled David's head down, and kissed him on the mouth.
Miranda felt her mouth drop open as David returned the kiss . . . for several seconds.
When they pulled back, smiling at each other far more intimately than she would have believed possible, the visitor said, ”There's my boy.”
David turned back to Miranda, who was gaping at the entire tableau and feeling rather like she'd stepped through the Looking Gla.s.s. ”It's all right, beloved,” he told her. ”Allow me to present Prime Deven O'Donnell of the Western United States and its adjacent territories. Lord Prime, this is Miranda Grey-Solomon, Queen of the Southern United States.”
Prime and Queen bowed to each other, and then Miranda said, a bit tersely, ”Would you care to explain what's going on here, my Lord Prime?”
Deven looked down at the human under his foot with open disdain and gestured toward the woman. ”An attempted robbery, near as I could tell. I found this thing attempting bodily harm toward the young woman, and I intervened.”
”Lali, see to the human,” Miranda ordered. Behind her Lali dove to the woman's side and began rea.s.suring her, checking her for injuries; the human was bawling, confused and still terrified, but didn't look badly hurt. ”Faith, call it in. Inform APD that we have a mugger in custody, and-”
She glanced back at Deven in time to see him bring his foot down hard, and with a horrible crack, the a.s.sailant's neck snapped beneath his boot. The man twitched twice and then lay still, eyes still staring.
”For Christ's sake, Dev,” David said, wincing. ”Was that really necessary?”