Part 21 (1/2)
In fact, Miranda wanted to smack the s.h.i.+t out of every couple she saw-the more affectionate they were, the more she wanted to strangle them. What kind of moron are you?she wanted to yell at them. He's f.u.c.king your sister! She only cares about your money! He posted those pictures on the Internet! She's leaving as soon as she gets her birthday present!
It was possible she was a little bitter.
”So,” Kat said as they walked out of the studio into the frigid night, ”how are . . . things?”
”The same. You?”
”Basically the same, but with even more barfing.”
”How long does that last?” Miranda asked, motioning to Lali and Aaron to follow at a distance but stay un.o.btrusive.
”It depends on the person-it's supposed to be a first-trimester thing, but for some people it never stops.”
”Sounds awesome.”
”Oh yeah.” Kat s.h.i.+fted her bag on her shoulder, and Miranda thought about offering to carry it but knew it would irritate Kat to be treated like an invalid-she already rolled her eyes behind Drew's back when he fluttered around her. ”Look at me, I'm a breeder. Bun in the oven. In the family way. Up the duff. The rabbit died.”
Miranda smiled, her eyes on the grimy sidewalk that was wet with yet another round of late-autumn rain. She was wearing gloves in addition to her coat; she had been taken aback by how deeply the cold affected her, thinking back to when it was weird to her that the Haven burned its fireplaces in August. It also made a lot more sense to her now that the vampire population of Texas was much higher than in, say, Canada, though she'd heard caribou blood was tasty.
”I noticed a lot of red eyes when I got there tonight,” Kat was saying. ”Were you mojo-ing them?”
”I guess. I'm curious to see if it comes through on the recording.”
”I've been meaning to ask you something-what happens if your CD sells like hotcakes and you're famous? Can you tour? Won't people ask a lot of questions?”
”Who believes in vampires?” Miranda asked wryly. ”I was thinking about it, too, and I figure, people who think anything about my weird behavior will sound like loonies in the press, and if I need to I can address them head on and make them sound even more loony. As for touring, well . . . I can be away from home for a few days at a time. I probably can't do anything international, though.”
”His Highness can't police things without you?”
”It's not that. This thing, this connection between us . . . if we go too long without touching, it starts to make us crazy. Physical contact reinforces the balance of power. Apparently once we learn to manage it we can go a week, but right now I get twitchy after about three days.”
Kat raised an eyebrow at her sideways. ”So you're still touching, even though you're not sleeping in the same room?”
”We're spending time together. Just not like before. I just . . . I needed some s.p.a.ce, Kat.”
Kat held up her hands. ”I know, sweetie. I'm not being judgmental. I just want to know you're okay.”
Miranda wanted to stop and kick a rock, but there weren't any around. ”I'm not okay. Not by a long shot. But we're doing the best we can. It's just going to take a while. It helps that he's so torn up about it-and that I can feel he's sincere. I'm not as angry knowing how bewildered and confused he is . . . The guilt feels nice, too.”
Kat chuckled. ”Bloodthirsty wench.”
”Exactly.”
”What I texted him last week still holds, just so you know.”
Now Miranda's smile was genuine. ”I appreciate that, Kat.”
”What about . . . the other two? Have you heard anything from Jonathan?”
”No.” Miranda's voice went flat when she said it, and Kat took the hint and changed the subject.
”So what do you want to do tonight? It's pretty early yet. Ice cream?”
What Miranda really wanted was blood . . . her thirst had escalated in the last three weeks, compensating for the sheer amount of energy she spent working out, sparring, performing onstage, and stalking the streets of Austin looking for a fight. Somehow, though, she didn't think hunting would be a good girls'-night-out activity.
”Movie?” she asked. ”We could go to the Alamo Drafthouse, watch stuff blow up, drink Guinness milkshakes.”
”You can have a Guinness shake,” Kat pointed out. ”I'm out of commission for the next seven months or so, remember? But a movie sounds good. We'll eat fries with a f.u.c.kton of queso and indulge in some testosterone poisoning. I've been wanting to see the new Johnny Depp. He gives me the tickle.”
Miranda laughed. ”Lucky you. I haven't had a tickle in weeks.”
”Man, that sucks . . . having a guilt-ridden undead stud at your beck and call and not wanting to take advantage of him.”
”All right,” Miranda said, stopping. ”I'm going to call Harlan and we'll bring up the movie schedule on the computer in the car. From this point in the evening, I declare a moratorium on relations.h.i.+p talk, baby talk, and vampire talk in general. Tonight we're going to just be two friends looking for some escapism.”
”Sounds like a plan,” Kat said.
Smiling, almost believing it would work, they shook on it.
The Winchester Bank building was one of the Prime's favorite vantage points from which to watch the city go by. It wasn't the tallest in Austin, or the flas.h.i.+est, but it suited him sometimes with its stone gargoyles and half-crumbling architecture. There were nights when he felt like a young G.o.d, untouchable; on those nights he took to the tallest skysc.r.a.pers. On other nights he felt like a fading relic in a world that would be content to go on without him. Those were the nights when he sought refuge atop the Winchester.
Time seemed determined to slog ever onward whether he went with it or not. In fact, at the Haven it was as though time had crawled backward to an earlier, more sorrowful era . . . and if only it were a new beginning instead of falling apart.
David could feel Miranda on the streets below, walking with Kat; he could sense her but was too far away to hear anything specific unless Miranda wanted him to . . . and she never did, anymore. For weeks she had kept him almost entirely shut out of her mind, her body, and her life. He wanted to howl his loss and shame at the night above, to fling himself off the building if he thought for a moment that it might help him atone, but all he could do was tell himself, over and over, She's still here. She stayed.
She stayed, and though she avoided him for large parts of the night and slept by herself, she didn't torment them both with her absence longer than necessary; she came in to see him every morning, and they sat in their chairs by the fire and talked about what they'd been up to, had a drink, made a few jokes, and tried . . . just tried to keep going.
She spent more time in the city than he did, so she was usually the one who prowled the streets of the Shadow District to keep their presence at the forefront of everyone's minds. They were rarely seen together.
Meanwhile he was still enmeshed in the investigation. Coordinating investigations among the West, his Elite, APD, Hunter Development, and the FBI forensics unit took a lot of time and diplomacy. Faith's discovery-that the stakes were carved of the exact same wood, thereby connecting the a.s.sa.s.sin to the West-had led them to Volundr, and though the smith had finally wheezed out four names in the midst of choking on his own blood, David wasn't confident that any of them would prove a viable lead.
Still, the Prime had been true to his word, and as soon as Volundr broke and gave up the names, David turned him over to the Elite, who had cleaned and fed him and were now arranging transport to return him to his home, along with what Faith considered an obscene amount of money . . . blood money, a penance that would do nothing to erase the sound of the smith's screams from David's memory . . . or the feeling that even as desperate as they were to find their killer, the ends may never justify the means.
The wind whipped past him, catching the hem of his coat, but he was far enough from the edge that it didn't hit him too hard. The dreary weather suited his mood.
His phone rang: a voice call rather than data. That first week he'd received a text from Kat that simply said, Your b.a.l.l.s + my gun, you rat b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He hadn't been able to think of a clever reply.
He glanced down to see who it was and took a deep breath.
”h.e.l.lo?”
”Are you alone?” Deven asked. His voice had two simultaneous effects on David: His stomach clenched with anxiety, but his heart quivered with something else entirely. It was maddening that as much as he wanted to stay away from Deven, the investigation kept forcing them back together.
”I wouldn't have picked up otherwise. What do you need?”
His brusque tone apparently surprised the Prime, who said uncertainly, ”I wanted you to know I got the list you sent me and I'm bringing them all in for questioning.”
”You could have told me that over e-mail.”
”Fine,” Deven snapped. ”I was checking up on you. Excuse the h.e.l.l out of me for caring.”