Shadow's Bane (Dorina Basarab) Read online

  And my prey did not know how to drive.

  But there were things I didn’t know, too. Like how to make the four legs of a deer work together, instead of landing in a tangle on the ground. Flying had been easier, not because I knew how to do that, but because I’d instinctively fallen back on old patterns. Instead of trying to take full control, I had suggested to the bird mind that easy prey lay ahead.

  I tried that again, but deer are not predators, and their food is everywhere. And planting the suggestion that a hunter was coming only panicked the poor thing. Which untangled its limbs and scampered away in the wrong direction. But I couldn’t yet join my twin in the car, not while keeping track of an enemy that was ignoring roads, eschewing bridges, and traveling overland. We were out of the city and moving quickly, as my twin was not, being caught in traffic behind me.

  Until she suddenly wrenched the car off the road, traversed a shallow ditch, bumped across a patch of open ground behind a gas station, and tore through a fence. And somehow skirted the traffic snarl, slinging out onto the bigger road below us. And then did something that caused the car to shoot ahead.

  * * *

  * * *

  “—say something!” Caedmon said, grabbing for the wheel, why I didn’t know. Like a fey could drive better than me.

  “Cut it out!” I told him. “You’re going to make us crash!”

  “You appear to be doing that well enough on your own! Have you gone mad?”

  “Years ago! And the wheel only steers. It doesn’t make it go!”

  “Then what does?”

  “This,” I said, and floored it.

  I was really wishing I’d grabbed my car, but it had been parked in front of the one Claire had recently bought. Because, while she might be a princess in Faerie, she didn’t rate that level of scratch here on Earth, where her bank account had only ponied up enough for a beater convertible. One with a top that was a pain in the ass even when you weren’t flying down the road at something like a hundred miles an hour!

  I struggled with the thing, which was flapping around like it was trying to take off, while Caedmon peppered me with questions despite having his long legs braced and one hand gripping the side of the car like it might just fuse there. Whatever dealings he’d had on Earth, it didn’t look like they’d involved high-speed car chases.

  Ones made even more fun when the damned top decided to detach altogether.

  Damn it!

  “Was it supposed to do that?” Caedmon asked, looking worried.

  And that was before maybe a hundred deer decided to jump out in front of us.

  “Shiiiiit!” I yelled, the wind in my face, and white tails flashing on all sides. I just knew we were about to crash and flip end over end. And without a top on the car, that was—

  Not going to happen, because Caedmon, looking a little pale, had done something that caused the deer to jump clean across us. We plowed through the middle of a herd of what appeared to be every deer in New York State—a tunnel of brown and white bodies and leaping legs—without hitting one, and burst out the other side. Only to have another car peel off the side of the road after us, red lights flashing and siren blaring.

  And wasn’t that just all I needed?

  “I believe he wants us to stop,” Caedmon said, turning around.

  “I know he wants us to stop!”

  “And yet you are not,” he pointed out.

  “If I do, I’ll lose them!”

  “Lose who?”

  I didn’t answer, being busy trying to figure out how to shake a tail on an open road while not also shaking that tentative link to my crazy other half, who was somehow flying overhead, although I couldn’t see her.

  And then it started to rain again, and I couldn’t see anything.

  Because it wasn’t a gentle pitter-patter on the windshield and my head. We drove into a torrent that had been left over from Noah’s day, thick and white and pounding down, like a million tiny strokes of a lash. Which hurt like hell and appeared to be trying to drown us. And was doing a pretty good job, because I didn’t have a top on the damned car!

  What I did have was the cop car, whose red flashing lights suddenly went from annoyance to godsend, giving me a beacon in my rearview mirror, allowing me to stay centered in the road. It wasn’t easy, because it felt like we were hydroplaning about half the time, but it was all I had. And it was working!

  Until he ran into a ditch.

  Son of a—

  I swerved to avoid doing the same, and a second later, broke through the deluge onto an open stretch of road, spluttering and blinking and very surprised.

  And grateful as hell.

  Until I looked to my right, and came face-to-face with a furious king of the fey.

  I thought it might be because he was a soggy mess: the glorious hair was straggling around his face, the casual shirt and leggings were drenched and dripping, and the inch or so of water that the car had managed to acquire was sloshing around his feet. But all that was true of me, too, and you didn’t hear me complaining. I was just glad to be alive.

  Although how much longer that would last was debatable, because a heavy hand had just descended onto my neck.

  “We need to talk.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I watched from the air as a large herd of deer simultaneously pricked up their ears and turned their heads. And then charged the long ribbon of road below, converging on the one spot of color fleeing through the night, the small white car my twin and the king of the fey were using. As fast as they were going, even a single impact might well prove disastrous. But the king must have done something, for they sailed over the car like a brown river, never touching it.

  The creature’s trick hadn’t worked.

  But it wasn’t the only one it knew. For I’d barely had the thought when a rain squall blew up, looking oddly like the herd, with every cloud in the surrounding area suddenly focused on one target. It utterly blocked my view, and I couldn’t imagine that my twin was having better luck.

  She was going to crash.

  So I sent my latest avatar diving through rain-battered skies, straight at the small eagle my prey had recently acquired. It was quick, just a dark smudge on the sky. But I was currently riding a peregrine falcon, favored hunter of the kings of old, which nested in abundance in this new city of glass and steel.

  And was faster than anything in the skies.

  I felt our talons sink deep, felt our prey struggle and fight and cry out, felt it start to fall—

  And felt the rain cut out, abruptly, as the murderer’s concentration broke.

  It was impressive, nonetheless. Just as whatever spell had been used on the herd had been. I could not throw spells; none of my kind could. But even had that been a possibility, I did not think I would have been able to manage it and hold an unwilling host at the same time.

  But this one could, and could do it weakened.

  I did not know what to think about that, like so many things today. It felt strange, to have a rush of new experiences after so long, to feel curious and off-balance. I spread my wings, feeling strangely exultant, free, reborn—

  Until a shadow circled overhead.

  And hunter became prey.

  * * *

  * * *

  “What do you mean, your other half?” Caedmon demanded.

  “Can we do this another time?” I yelled, because we were getting hit with scattered showers, as the big one broke apart, making me have to concentrate on the road. And because I didn’t know the answer to most of his questions myself.

  “No! Explain yourself!”

  It was like night and day: the amused would-be lover, toying with me because he was bored or because he wanted something, which had been most of my experience with Caedmon until now; and the sharp-eyed, serious, powerful king of t
he fey I was getting acquainted with tonight. And wasn’t it fun? I thought grimly, switching gears.

  “I’m dhampir,” I said shortly. “You know that. It means you get a two-for-one deal, with one being batshit insane.”

  I glanced upward, at the boiling gray skies, and wondered which of us that was. Because, seriously, either some next-level shit was going on tonight or I really did have something wrong with my head. More than usual, that is.

  “And your other half is . . . up there?” Caedmon said, gesturing at the sky. Although that weird, intense, slightly creepy look he was giving me never wavered.

  It was starting to freak me out.

  “Look, I don’t know anything more than you do, okay? We’re not supposed to be awake at the same time! But the barrier my father put in place fell recently, or got a big hole blown in it, thanks to your fey wine—”

  “Fey wine?” It was sharp.

  “Yeah. Not actual wine, but that weird stuff you guys export for the druggies. The kind with the herbs—”

  “I know what it is!”

  “Well, I didn’t! I thought it was just helping to control my fits—that’s when Dorina used to come out, you know?”

  He nodded grimly.

  “Because it worked even better than Claire’s weed. But it also weakened the mental barrier Mircea had put in my head, something I didn’t know until—bam! No more barrier. Or not much of one. Parts of it are still there, but it’s pretty damned ragged and not really preventing contact anymore.”

  “And now you are finding out about . . . hidden talents . . . on the other side of your brain.”

  “That’s one possibility!” I yelled, because the rain had picked up again.

  “And what would be another?”

  “That I’ve finally gone crazy and think I’m a bird!”

  And then I did go flying, all right, but not because of wings. But because the car hit something and skidded wildly, careening us off the road and up a grassy rise of ground. And then flipping us over, and damn it!

  Fortunately, I was tossed into a soft hillside, and didn’t break anything else. I did go rolling and cursing down said hill afterward, however, since much of the rain-soaked ground gave way with me, in a miniature mudslide. One that left me filthy and banged up and seriously pissed off.

  And sliding to a halt at the feet of a couple of grinning vampires, one of whom was holding the end of what looked like a grappling hook on a cable.

  The other end of which was attached to the back seat of my ride.

  “You wrecked my roommate’s car!” I said, putting it together.

  “Don’t worry,” the blond from the troll fight told me. “You won’t live long enough to have to explain it.”

  And then he gave the cable a gentle tug, sending the convertible flying through the air like a giant mace.

  One aimed directly at me.

  I rolled frantically to the side, only to find myself facing off with Purple Hair.

  “I thought . . . you two . . . were competitors,” I said, trying to get my breath back, while dodging kicks, blows, and stabs, because Bitch Girl had gotten herself a spear.

  She was pretty good with it, too.

  “We are,” she informed me, doing the rapid-stab thing all around my contorting body. “But you’re kind of annoying. So we’re teaming up till you’re dead, then going to fight it out between us.”

  “You teamed up with that?”

  ’Cause Blondie had just tugged on his cable, trying to reposition the car, instead of helping her.

  Only to reposition it onto his head.

  She scowled. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” I said, got a leg over her spear, and snapped the heavy shaft in two.

  She looked from it to me, and the scowl grew more pronounced. “Bitch, that was my favorite spear.”

  “Not anymore,” I said, and went for her with the jagged end, which made a quite serviceable stake.

  Because vamps and wooden weapons don’t mix, no matter how good they think they are, but I didn’t have a chance to demonstrate the point.

  But not because of her.

  Because I was suddenly hit with a jumble of slurring, cloud-filled skies, clawing talons and sharp, tearing beaks.

  Pain ripped through me, and I looked down at my side, expecting to see a jagged wound, but there was nothing there. Just like there was no sky full of feathers, and strong flapping wings, and blood spurting as two predators fought it out, somewhere above me. Which was going to get me killed down here, because my brain wasn’t used to doing a freaking split screen!

  And because my opponent didn’t have that problem.

  Fortunately, she did have another.

  One that reached down with a huge, hoary hand and grabbed her, right before she could shove the shiny end of the spear through my eyeball. And snatched her off the ground and into the air, maybe thirty feet, maybe more. Whatever the height of the copse of tall trees just behind us.

  Of course, her buddy was no help. He crawled out from under the car he’d just jerked on top of himself, in time to see another tree branch curving like a giant’s hand and reaching down for him. Then the two vamps were getting introduced to the ground by the treetops swaying violently this way and that, as if in hurricane-force winds, grabbing them up and smacking them back down, over and over and over and over.

  I could watch this all day, I thought dizzily.

  And then a couple of birds splatted onto Claire’s windshield, and the split screen became one seriously messed-up brain again.

  One that was no longer even trying to keep up.

  Well, shit, I thought.

  And passed out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mircea, Venice, 1458

  “Damn it, Mircea!” The praetor’s color was high, but not from embarrassment. She stepped out of her lovely gown, giving Mircea a glimpse of a beautiful bronzed figure, lean of thigh and high of breast, the opposite of the Venetian preference for rounder, paler forms.

  The Venetians were idiots, Mircea thought, as the praetor’s ladies hurried to help her into her bath.

  It was unusual, too. The Venetian norm was the same as everywhere else: a high, wooden tub lined with cloths to reduce splinters, and, for the wealthy, soft, scented soaps and thick towels. He hadn’t had a bath like that in a while, being relegated to the local public bathhouse when he had the fee, and to an overlarge bucket Horatiu had found that left his knees up around his ears whenever he didn’t.

  This was like an indoor fountain, a depression in the floor decorated with mosaic tiles and featuring streams of fresh water coming from decorative fittings in the walls. It was ridiculously pretentious in a town that received its water exclusively from rainfall caught in sand-filtered wells. Behind the luxurious facade, some poor servants were laboring to carry buckets up four stories so they could fill some reservoir that allowed her to pretend she was still in Rome.

  Mircea remained stoic, but the sheer waste colored his appreciation for her beauty.

  That, and her cruelty.

  “I had one in sight tonight,” he told her. “I saw one boy taken and the trap set again. If the skies had stayed clear—”

  “But they didn’t, and you lost him. Leaving me precisely where I was before.”

  She paused to summon a maid mentally. Goat cheese, and pears stewed in red wine. The girl hurried to bring her mistress a late-night snack that Mircea couldn’t taste, thanks to his age, not that he was likely to be offered any. He hadn’t even been offered a chair.

  This was not going to be a long audience.

  “I know where they hunt now,” he said urgently. “I will find them—”

  “Not soon enough. Jacomelo is kicking up a fuss, and the Lady wants answers.”

  “I understand—”
>
  “Do you?” The other maid began washing her mistress’ arm with soap smelling of musk and cloves. It was a heady, rich scent, and wreathed Mircea’s head in fragrance. It did not seem to improve his patron’s temper, however. “She’s at war,” she said flatly. “She needs her allies kept happy, and losing his son has not made Jacomelo happy. It didn’t help that the damned boy was the only one in his family who could count!”

  No, Mircea supposed not. Jacomelo was the head of a powerful vampire family with extensive business interests in Venice and abroad. He was also a longtime, vocal supporter of the consul. Had she failed in her attempt to overthrow her Sire and take control of the Senate, his blood would have run in the streets alongside hers. As it was, he was a senior member of her government, with a great deal of power.

  Power he was using to find out who had kidnapped, and presumably killed, his son.

  There had been rumors about vampires disappearing for a while, but the usual targets were the masterless hordes that no one cared about. Whoever had taken Jacomelo’s son had probably assumed he was one of them. When he wasn’t running his father’s vast empire, the boy had been fond of slumming in Venice’s stews, dressed as a commoner.

  Until one morning, when he didn’t come home.

  “I will solve this,” Mircea promised again. “Soon.”

  “And when you do, you will have your reward.”

  “But I need—” Mircea stopped the blurted words, because she didn’t care. It was one thing the nobles of his new world had in common with those of his old. Telling them what you needed—even desperately—was beside the point. They saw only their own, selfish points of view.

  “My daughter’s illness takes up a good deal of my time,” he said, more diffidently. “I fear her condition grows worse. I spend as many hours as I can on the streets, on this project of yours, but—”