Shadowstorm (The Shadow World Book 6) Read online

  Shadowstorm

  A Novel of the Shadow World

  by Dianne Sylvan

  Copyright © 2016 Dianne Sylvan

  All rights reserved.

  Also by Dianne Sylvan

  The Shadow World Novels:

  Queen of Shadows

  Shadowflame

  Shadow’s Fall

  Of Shadow Born

  Shadowbound

  The Agency Series, Volumes 1-5

  Nonfiction Books:

  The Circle Within: Creating a Wiccan Spiritual Practice

  The Body Sacred

  Part One:

  The River in Flood

  Chapter One

  SignetPulse News Update:

  This week, another stunning development in the ongoing struggle between the Signets and the Order of the Morningstar’s assassination squads: William and Virginia Larimer, Prime and Queen of the American Midwest territory, were killed on a crowded street in Denver in view of at least two dozen humans.

  It is widely believed that the Morningstar soldiers are operating under a form of mind control that directs their attention solely to the mission objective; they are, according to rumor, under the ultimate control of a human calling himself the Prophet.

  Another less shocking move came from the South as Prime David Solomon swept into the Midwest region with hundreds of Elite from all over the continent and subdued the riots in Denver before the week was out. Over the past two years Solomon has taken over all but one of the American territories; Olivia Daniels, the first female Prime in Signet history, shows no signs of relinquishing hers, and remains one of Solomon’s staunchest allies.

  Others in the Council are not convinced of the South’s benevolent intentions. An unnamed source from one of the untouched Havens in South America reported, “We all know what’s really going on—he will have the entire Western Hemisphere piece by piece before the decade’s out. He has to be stopped.”

  SignetPulse was unable to reach Prime Solomon or his Queen for comment but will continue to investigate the situation in Austin and how its consequences will affect all of our honored Signets.

  *****

  Much like its children, darkness knew how to make an entrance.

  Night walked in with a sweep of its long dusk-blue coat, parting the daylight with its commanding presence. The fire of sunset became pale and insubstantial before it and then withdrew altogether.

  While in the city most people were just finishing up the day, out in the curvaceous landscape beyond Austin, the nerve center of the Shadow World was just waking up.

  Unfortunately parts of that world had already been awake for quite a while.

  The Prime of the Southern United States…and the West…and the Mideast…and the Midwest…woke from a fitful day’s sleep an hour before the sun was well set, and after trying in vain to enjoy the quiet dark of the suite and the warmth of his Queen’s presence draped halfway over him, he gave up and got out of bed.

  A hush still held sway over the Haven while its leader pulled on clothes and paused to smile at the woman who still slept soundly, her wild red hair run mad all over the pillow, her expression surprisingly peaceful considering everything that stood against them now. Life wearing a Signet was never simple, never had been, but compared to now, just wearing a Signet seemed like an idyllic time long past.

  Just shy of two years had passed since California had fallen. In that time, another seven Primes had been attacked, but at long last the Council had decided to act on his warnings and increase security, so only three of the seven went down. Many of the rest had barricaded themselves in their Havens, only emerging when absolutely necessary.

  Since admitting he’d been right all along about the Order of the Morningstar’s threat, the Council had been after him to return to the table. They cited tradition and history and how Signets must stick together, but he knew that was nonsense—they wanted to find a way to make him relinquish control of all the territories beyond his own, and without the ultimately empty ritual of parliamentary procedure they had no real way to pressure him. The Council had always prided itself on maintaining individual autonomy. In David Solomon that pride had backfired spectacularly. When their cajoling failed they turned to veiled threats.

  He was quite happy to point out that if a group of “mere humans” had sent the all-powerful Council of Signets scurrying into its holes like little mice, the Council opposing David was as pointless as it was hilarious.

  He left the suite and headed down the hall to his recently-redesigned office. Other Primes always looked at him patronizingly for his attachment to technology, and a great many didn’t even have their Elite connected in any meaningful way, depending on handwritten reports.

  Handwritten! They might as well carve everything into stone tablets.

  It turned out that, thanks to that derided attachment to technology, running four territories wasn’t that much harder than running one. The first thing he’d done was have three of his contractors start building sensors…lots of them. The West already had a network of his design, and within six months the other two territories were linked as well. All four now had the software patch that let the sensors detect humans whose speed and vital signs were similar to the Morningstar soldiers.

  He hadn’t had to use that, though, because there hadn’t been a single attack in any of his territories since he’d taken over. Morningstar was active all over the world, not just taking out Primes but inciting violence among vampire syndicates. They were doing it covertly, but he was not fooled. They had apparently, however, adopted a wait-and-see attitude with him, possibly believing he would lose control as fear gripped the Shadow World and they could just sit back and watch him stumble without risking any of their own people. Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.

  The door clicked open and the lights and equipment began to switch on as soon as he entered the room. David sat down at the long desk with its bank of six monitors in varying sizes; there was also a 52” screen on the far wall. It and four of the others were all touch-screen, and one ran the holographic generator he used to examine structural diagrams in 3D.

  Miranda had taken to calling his office the Batcave, and wasn’t terribly surprised when he started calling it that too.

  The smallest screen, which gave him security readings for the Haven and Austin alone, was the only one that lit when he took his chair; a glowing box with the shape of a hand in the center waited to verify his identity.

  He touched it, and after scanning his handprint the rest of the system began to load; he felt the beam of the scanner run from his head down to his feet, affirming fourteen additional measurements, vital signs, and energy signatures. If his handprint didn’t match exactly his body in exactly this chair, the system would lock the user out. Miranda, of course, could access it too, and knew how to use most of the system.

  He’d been amazed that so few of the warriors he’d taken in from the fallen territories had protested the change in leadership. Those who didn’t want to stay were allowed to resign without any repercussions. David knew each territory had different needs that an outsider might not understand. Keeping Seconds and high-ranking lieutenants in charge and having them report straight to him, being sure to take their counsel as often as appropriate, kept the power structure in place. That way the things he did change—like installing the sensor networks and making sure everyone had the most advanced communication hardware and software—were easier for everyone to accept.

  The summary reports for all four territories came up on a monitor, and just as he’d figured, situation normal all over. Things had been unsettlingly quiet for the last two months, not just here but al
l over the world.

  Quick check of the sensor network, coms, other databases, phones: all systems nominal.

  He sat back, tilting the chair and crossing his arms. The great stalemate…they had no way to destroy Morningstar, and Morningstar wasn’t moving. He had his own house under control but in the global Shadow World Morningstar held all the cards.

  At least, that’s what he wanted them to think. The Circle had, here in these walls, a secret weapon.

  David left the office and headed down another hallway in their wing; only one suite had a guard in front of it, and there he stopped, nodded in acknowledgment to the guard, and knocked softly on the door.

  Before he went in he made sure to reach into the room with his senses and confirm that there was, in fact, only one person inside. He’d learned the awkward way that he had to double check.

  As he’d expected, there were candles burning, and the room’s inhabitant was awake, sitting up in bed with books and notebooks in a semicircle around him. Dark auburn hair, tucked behind two pointed ears, fell down all the way to the comforter.

  He looked up at the door’s opening, and smiled. David felt that smile all the way down to his toes.

  “Good evening,” Nico said. “Why am I not surprised to see you up so early?”

  “Pot, kettle,” David replied. He crossed the room and sat down on the bed, trying not to disturb the arrangement of research materials.

  The book directly in front of Nico was ancient, its pages filled with strange symbols and, it turned out, at least four languages. Nico had a notebook in his lap and had half-covered a page with a mix of more symbols and modern English.

  The task that they’d all expected to be quick and easy for the Elf had in reality taken months; to Nico’s astonishment, the Elvish used in the Codex of Persephone was not his own, but a version at least as old as the earliest Elysian Greek. He had believed, as all the Elves he knew believed, that their language had remained mostly unchanged throughout history. This, though, wasn’t just old, it was weird. It was as if Nico had grown up speaking modern French and then tried to read a book in 16th century Spanish. He was puzzling his way through it, but it was slow going.

  David leaned over the pile of books and kissed his forehead; the Elf gave him an affectionate smile before returning to the matter at hand. “Our book is 60% sacred texts and rituals in Elysian Greek, 20% first-person history written by various members of the Order over the centuries, and 20% in Elvish…some of that I can read, but over 2/3 of that section is that odd second dialect…and now I think there may be a third in here too. I started a new section last night and it makes no sense whatsoever—it’s written in Elvish characters, but it’s gibberish. It’s either encoded or it’s useless.”

  David shook his head, frustrated. “I already ran CIA code-cracking software on that entire half of the book last year, and it didn’t even recognize the dialectic differences, much less that there were three in there. Have you spoken to Kai?”

  Nico sighed. “Not since he left for the harvest. I sent samples of the text with him. Hopefully he can find someone familiar with this dialect without calling attention to himself.”

  There it was again…the sadness. It had become a second skin to the Elf, dulling his luminous eyes, slowing down his movements. He had worn it since those first days of trying, trying anything, to reach his new Prime…but even then he had known the futility of that effort. They’d all been doing what they could to keep Nico going, but the more time passed, the more depressed he became. If Elves weren’t so dependent on the natural world for spiritual sustenance—they needed it like air—Nico might have stopped leaving his room entirely and simply stayed in bed for weeks at a time.

  The crux of the problem was the barrier between him and Deven: it allowed just enough energy through to keep them both alive, but made it impossible to share the way Pairs were supposed to. The imbalance wasn’t catastrophic the way the Trinity’s had been, but it was proving just as agonizing, with symptoms as physical as they were emotional. Nico was pale, drawn, eyes shadowed with dark circles; and while a lower body temperature was normal for vampires, he was constantly cold to the point of shivering. In addition to the chills he ached all over intermittently for no discernible reason. He was also constantly hungry…which presented another problem.

  The first few days he’d been a vampire he had seemed to deal well enough with his new appetites. David remembered the irresistible dark creature he had become—how powerful he was, how beautiful. That, too, had drained away, leaving a wraith of an Elf who found blood revolting and could barely force himself to drink it until the hunger was too overwhelming to deny. The few times he’d tried to feed off a live human he had panic attacks, so he was subsisting on bagged blood…and that wasn’t helping matters. He needed strength, and he sure as hell wasn’t getting enough from his diet.

  David had never heard of an anorexic vampire before, but then, he’d never heard of an Elven vampire either. It might be the inherent contradiction of nature between Elves and vampires—they had, after all, been created as polar opposites—but David suspected it was psychological, and if they could just set things right with Deven, Nico would work through it.

  Once again, David felt a surge of anger…bordering on rage…at the elder Prime. If Deven wanted to hate himself and live in misery, fine—it was his MO, after all. As his lover David had tried for ten years to help him, and Jonathan had done the same for seven times that long, but neither had succeeded. Doing this to Nico was unforgivable. Nico had given up his entire life to save Deven’s...and this was his reward, to barely live at all, chained to someone who hated him, and the world, but nothing so much as himself.

  While the others had tried various ways to talk to or otherwise engage Deven, David had stayed away from him, which wasn’t hard given he was rarely seen by anyone at all. David didn’t trust himself not to throttle Deven or at least say things that would make the situation even worse. As it was, all he had to do was think about him and his teeth started to ache with the need to tear out a throat.

  “Hold on there,” Nico said quietly, looking at him with a slight smile. He lifted a shaky hand and laid it against David’s face. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

  “Sorry.” David took the hand and kissed it, then rubbed it between his own, trying to warm the fingers. “It’s just…you know how I feel about seeing you in pain.”

  The smile turned sweet. Nico kissed him lightly on the lips. “That’s because you are wonderful, my lord.”

  “So are you.”

  Nudging the books out of the way, David shifted closer and drew the Elf into his arms, trying to give him as much warmth as he could. Nico burrowed close, and for a while neither spoke.

  They had found a few things that helped the Elf cope, and physical affection was at the top of the list. He had Stella, of course, who spent at least two nights a week in his room. David spent as much time with him as he could spare, though unlike Stella he wasn’t sleeping with him; and every few weeks, Kai visited from Avilon.

  The Elven Weavers had banded together and generated enough power to send Kai to Earth, hoping that Nico would be able to send him back once he’d ascertained that his twin was safe. Seeing Kai had been so good for Nico that Miranda had convinced him to find a way for the Bard to come back, and Nico had gathered power from Stella, David, and Miranda to create something called a Gatestone that would open a portal directly to Avilon whenever Kai wanted one. Nico had been unconscious for five days after performing the spell.

  David had thought a visit home might also do Nico a lot of good…until Kai had told Miranda privately that it would be impossible.

  When they found out what Nico had done—turned into a vampire, something unheard of that went against everything Elves supposedly stood for—the Avilon ruling council declared him an abomination…and excommunicated him.

  Nico didn’t know yet. They had agreed not to mention it unless Nico brought up the idea of going home, but so
far, he seemed to feel the same way the council did, and didn’t want his old friends to see him as he was now.

  “Maybe you should call him,” David said into Nico’s hair. “Your brother.”

  Nico chuckled. “You don’t even like him.”

  “That’s because he’s an arrogant dick. But to be fair people have said that about me most of my life too.”

  “Well that isn’t fair at all,” Nico replied. “You’re far less of a dick than Kai. And I wouldn’t call either of you arrogant, just…extremely self-assured. You’re a powerful being who knows he is and owns every inch of it, and Kai has been an object of fascination since birth.”

  “Fine, then, I’ll take back arrogant. But dick still stands.”

  “No argument.”

  David went on, “The point is, no, I don’t especially like your brother, but that’s irrelevant. You need him, and he obviously adores you. Whatever it is that binds twins together is particularly strong with you two, and the minute he gets here you look and sound a thousand times better. That alone is worth a bit of dickishness.”

  Nico smiled up at him. “He’ll be back in a few days—there are festivals and rituals practically every night during the harvest season. As the lead Bard he has to organize all of it.” At David’s dubious expression, he added, “In our tradition the most talented Bards are ranked on par with the high priesthood…and my brother is very, very talented.”

  “So I hear.” There was another pause before David said, “I should leave you to your evening.”

  “You’re looking at my evening. I don’t have the energy to be up and around…and I haven’t worked on this nearly enough. I could have been finished months ago if I weren’t laying around feeling sorry for myself.”

  Irritated, David flicked the Elf’s ear, eliciting a yelp and then a quiet laugh. “Don’t start that. You’re ill, Nico. You’re doing the best you can—and it’s not as if Morningstar has made a move lately.”