Shadowstorm (The Shadow World Book 6) (6 page)

She followed carefully as he made a circuit around the ward; he didn’t stop at every room, and some took longer than others. She had a suspicion as to what was going on, but she wanted to
see.

Finally, he reached where he’d started and left the ward altogether. She had to leave more distance in the bright hallways, but with her phone it was easy enough to catch up again. She looked up at the sign here:

Neonatal Intensive Care Unit

Same drill. Deven moved from room to room, but this area didn’t take as long; there were only about 20 beds that she could see.

As she walked, she bolstered her shields again: even after visiting hours, she could still feel the lingering presence of sadness and hope. She didn’t get much of anything off the inhabitants of the alien-looking plastic beds. She wasn’t sure how to describe it. She guessed most of them were significantly premature, but it wasn’t that they weren’t alive, it was that while pain was physical, suffering was an emotion that depended on context these babies didn’t have yet. She couldn’t decide if that was comforting or not.

Finally, she saw her chance: an open area with curtained bays instead of closed off rooms. The room was dimly lit from a bright lamp that was shining inside one of the bays. She moved into the one opposite, which fortunately held only an empty bed. From there she had a perfect view.

Deven drew aside the curtain of the bay closest to the window, revealing a clear plastic bed—incubator, if she recalled correctly—with a variety of tubes and wires connecting it to the bank of machines nearby. She could barely see inside, but then a tiny pink hand flailed up in the air.

Her heart was held in her throat by a tangled net of emotions. She held onto the curtain with one hand and just watched.

Deven slid his hands into the holes in the incubator’s side and gingerly plucked some kind of tubing out of the way. He didn’t seem stymied by the equipment the way Miranda would have been. Miranda shifted a little to the right to get a better look at the inside of the box.

It was, of course, a baby, wearing nothing but a diaper and a pink knit cap on her downy head. Miranda didn’t know much about babies but this one had to be pretty new—she didn’t have that fat rounded-off look babies got once they’d been eating for a while. This one wasn’t eating anything, though. She had a tube down her throat.

That little hand caught one of Deven’s fingers for a moment. Miranda glanced up at his face in time to see a soft smile.

It occurred to her to wonder if he’d ever wanted children of his own; she doubted it, given his monastic life, but she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t the sort of thing vampires usually talked about. David hardly ever mentioned his son, though she knew he had loved fatherhood.

Deven closed his eyes.

She knew what he was doing before she even felt the wave of energy rising up through him. She had seen this before, that night when he knelt on the street beside Kat’s bleeding body. This time, though, the amount of power she sensed dwarfed that by a factor of ten at least—she had no idea how he could control that much power, but somehow he modulated it, feeding a little at a time into the tiny wrinkly creature in the bed.

Miranda had no idea what was wrong with the baby, or how he knew when she was better, but after a couple of minutes, he withdrew his hands and placed them on the lid of the incubator to steady himself, breathing hard. She had counted: he’d been to thirteen different patients tonight, and by now had to be on the verge of collapse. Just healing Kat had put him out for a whole night. Where had all of this come from?

Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his hands together, flexing the fingers. While he did that the machines around the baby’s bed began to beep faster or slower or whatever they had to do to indicate something was very, very different.

This time when he left the ward he headed for the elevators. Miranda stayed where she was for a good five minutes before doing the same; he would probably be on his way to the park now, and she had a good idea why—to rest, and possibly hunt.

She was thankful to get outside again in the free air; the more distance she could put between herself and the hospital, the better she’d feel. She started to call Harlan, but before she could dial, she heard,

“I suppose you think you’re clever.”

Miranda turned toward the voice. “How long did you know I was there?”

Deven, leaning against the outside wall of the hospital’s front driveway, looked like absolute hell; wherever he was getting his power from, it was using him pretty hard. He looked a lot like Nico did these days. “The whole time.”

She deliberately asked a stupid question just to see how he’d react. “How did you know?”

The exasperated look he gave her was, for a second, one hundred percent Deven. Rather than answer, he asked, “Why are you here?”

“I needed to know what you were doing. I thought you were off doing drugs, or killing people, not...”

She wasn’t sure he was capable of genuine laughter anymore, but the noise he made was close. “You want to know why I of all people would do something as life-affirming as healing terminal babies.”

“I am curious, yes.”

“The drugs aren’t working anymore,” he said. “I tried everything…I only wanted a moment of peace. Death is denied me…I barely sleep…in the end only one thing makes it all go still.”

She nodded slowly, wishing she could at least lay a hand on his arm, some gesture, anything, to let him know she understood. But even if he would allow it, to him it would be meaningless. “Healing,” she concluded. “When you heal, you’re at peace. I saw it that night with Kat.”

He looked down at his hands. They were so pale, almost insubstantial, a ghost’s hands. It was hard to imagine them wielding a sword, let alone belonging to the fiercest warrior vampire kind had ever seen. They shook the way hers had always shaken before she learned to master her gift.

“I can’t stop…if I don’t use it, it burns. It was like that sometimes when I was a child—mark myself a target for the Inquisition or end up screaming in pain. They sent me off to the monastery either to save or condemn me, I’ve never decided which. So you see,” he said quietly, “It’s the same as ever. I don’t care about sick babies or ten-year-olds with tumors. It’s purely selfish. I’m using them.”

Miranda had to smile a little, because whatever private hell he was living in, she didn’t believe for a second that he didn’t care. She had seen his face when the baby grabbed his hand. “Somehow I don’t think those kids’ parents would care what your motivation was.”

He pushed himself off the wall and started walking; she fell in step beside him. “Leave me alone,” he said. The words were petulant but their tone was not—it was almost a plea. “Whatever it is you want from me, you won’t get it.”

“I just want to talk to you,” she insisted.

He stopped, looked at her. “Why?”

“Because…you were there for me when David died. You kept me going. I want to be here for you. That’s what friends do, and…I miss you. There’s so much I…” After all those months, finally getting to talk to him even like this made her eyes ache with tears. “You were the one person I could tell anything—you never judged, never gave me anything but love. You don’t know how hard it’s been without you.”

For a second, she thought she might have him, but his face hardened. “Talk to your Prime,” he said, and started walking again.

“Won’t you at least think of Nico?” she called after him. “He needs you even more than I do.”

He didn’t stop. She followed.

“Don’t you care what you’re doing to him?” she wanted to know. “If you could see him—”

“He doesn’t need me,” Deven snapped. “He’s got the rest of you to keep him warm.”

“But you’re his Prime—”

“That’s his problem, not mine.”

“Do you really think this is what—”

He rounded on her, eyes gone pure silver with anger. “If you say a word about what Jonathan would have wanted I swear to God I’ll break your neck.”

She knew better than to continue the sentence. “Just let me help you,” she said softly. “I know you’re in pain—every single breath must hurt. I can’t make it go away. I don’t even know if I can make it any better. All I know is that you don’t have to be alone.”

Again, she saw it…the barest hint, just a glimpse…no matter how shattered he was, part of him still cared about her. She tried to reach out with her empathy, just to offer connection, but as soon as he sensed she was trying to touch him, the barriers slammed shut again, and that trace of softness became distant and cold.

“You can’t save me,” he said. “Stop wasting your time.”

Then, he vanished.

Miranda’s heart sank down to her feet. It wasn’t so much that she’d expected him to exclaim “My God, you’re right, let’s hold hands and cry”—it was seeing what he had become, compared to the strong, imperious creature made of leather and snark she had met that night so long ago. She’d hated him back then, but his power and allure were undeniable. He’d swept in and rescued her in Rio Verde, fought at her side. She remembered sobbing her heart out in his arms when David was dead. Waking up in what should have been a cold, empty bed without David, to find another presence beside her, the scent of sandalwood she had grown to love…pressing into the warmth of a body there only to give her comfort, knowing she might be broken, maybe forever, but she wasn’t alone. And though none of them had discussed it, she remembered the night David had made her Thirdborn, and how in her seeming delirium she had put her mouth to Deven’s and felt a surprising welcome, perhaps desire but at the very least affection. And now…

All she could do was hope that what she’d told David was right: that if she had managed to put even the tiniest chink in his armor, it would start to crack.

It was such a faint and fading hope that she found her eyes filling, and after Harlan picked her up, she cried silently in the back seat the entire trip home, wishing for the kind of healing ability she didn’t think existed…the kind that could work a miracle.

*****

David followed the Queen’s distress to the music room, where he found her sitting at her piano, arms up on the lid, head in her arms.

He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Beloved? What happened?”

Miranda looked up at him through her hair. Her eyes were red and swollen from a long cry, but dry, so it must have been on the drive home. “Babies,” she said.

David blinked. “Babies happened?”

She nodded. “I followed Deven. We talked for a minute—I tried to get through to him, and for a second I thought maybe I had. I don’t know. But…with everything he could be out there doing, every form of self-destruction at his fingertips, he’s going to Brackenridge…and healing dying babies and children. He tried to play it off like he was just doing it to make himself feel better, but I could tell it was more than that.”

David found his own heart aching, perhaps from relief, perhaps from…he had no idea. “That sounds like the Deven I knew,” he said softly. “I saw him doing it once a long time ago, but I never let on. What…what do you think it means?”

“It means he’s still in there,” she answered. “It means we can’t give up. Not yet.”

“Then we won’t give up,” David replied. Just that tiny ray of hope was like a sweet summer sunset. “We’ll find a way to reach him even if we have to start throwing sick babies at him.”

Miranda giggled in spite of herself. “That’s a horrible mental image. But it might be worth a shot.”

He brushed the hair from her eyes, and wiped the tears from her face with the cuff of his shirt. She smiled up at him, taking his hand and holding it to the side of her face. “I thought you’d like to know,” he said casually, “That Kai’s back.”

“Oh. Good.”

He was trying not to put her on the spot, but also felt compelled to ask: “So, are you two…”

Miranda flushed, and then looked angry with herself for flushing. “No, it’s not…it’s not like that.”

David raised an eyebrow.

“I mean it! I mean, of course he’s disgustingly hot. But it’s not anything. Or if it is it’s not going anywhere.”

He was laughing at her, and she punched his shoulder. “You do realize how ridiculous you sound to me of all people,” he pointed out. “It’s all right, beloved.”

“No it’s not!”

“Why not?” he asked. “I seem to recall someone telling me we have no control over our emotions, only our actions.”

“I don’t want to sleep with him, David—we’re friends. Maybe like how you and Olivia are friends. But that’s it. I don’t want anyone besides you—ever.”

“Oh?”

“I mean it.”

“All right.” He kissed her forehead, deciding not to press the issue, though he knew perfectly well there was at least one circumstance in which she would feel very differently. “Well, we made rules about extracurricular activities, and they apply to both of us. If you think it’s going somewhere, we’ll talk about it before it does, make sure everything’s out in the open. You’re every bit as entitled to lovers as I am—and you’re also entitled to have none at all. I’m all right with either.”

“But you don’t like him,” she reminded him.

He shrugged. “I don’t have to. I know he wouldn’t hurt you. And if he did I’d rip his lungs out. I’m sure he knows that too. Regardless, I’d recommend you start a conversation before things get awkward. You and I both know how unspoken feelings turn toxic.”

“Yeah.” She leaned on him for a minute, sighing. “Thank you for being… you.”

He smiled and kissed her. “I wouldn’t be me if you weren’t you, so thank you too. Now, you go back to your song, and I’ll see you later. I’ve got three Elite ready to try out the new coms. But try not to put so much pressure on yourself.”

Miranda sat up straight again, pulling her hair back from her face with one hand. Her energy seemed a little lighter, even if her expression wasn’t. “I love you,” she said.

“And I, you, my Queen.”

As he left the music room, he paused at the end of the hall, waiting; he wasn’t about to leave her alone until he heard music. Just the piano was all right, but singing would be even better.