this time.”
David gave him a slightly wicked grin. “Actually Hart’s in that one. I thought that was appropriate.”
“You are as delightfully evil as always,” Deven replied. “Now, to the matter at hand.”
David frowned. “What’s the matter?”
Deven sat down. “A few days ago I lost contact with the operative I had in Hart’s Elite.”
David bit off a curse. “So we have to assume the worst—he knows you were spying on him.”
“No, he knows the Red Shadow was spying on him. Even then, he’d have no idea why; the Shadow doesn’t normally work for vampires, so he’d most likely believe a human hired us.”
“Doesn’t normally? Does that mean you’ve changed your policy?”
“Irrelevant, David. The point is that even though Hart has no reason to suspect my involvement, nor any way to know on whose behalf Claret was working, he knows someone was watching him … and more important, I no longer have eyes on Hart. Whatever his plan is, we’re flying blind now.”
David nodded slowly, straightening, determination stepping up to stomp out the stirrings of fear. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We proceed as planned. Whatever he’s up to, we’re ready for it. Let him try something. If he makes a move on us, he’ll regret it.”
Three
“There … all done.”
Miranda took a deep breath. “How’s it look?”
Faith raised an eyebrow. “As usual, I recommend you wear a bag over your head.”
“Be serious, Faith! I can’t see it!”
“I can help you with that.”
Miranda looked up from the vanity—which wasn’t much of one, considering it had no mirror—to see David in the bathroom doorway, mostly dressed, with his laptop and some sort of odd contraption that looked a lot like a video camera. “What’s that?”
He gave her his “geek triumphant” smile and set the computer down on the counter, opened it, and plugged the camera into the USB port. “One moment, my Lady.”
Miranda exchanged a look with Faith, who was both amused and bemused; Miranda remembered that Faith had been helping David with his new toys, and they’d had some promising results.
“Now, this won’t be a perfect image, but …” David brought up a window and typed in a string of commands; another window popped up, this one a media player. At first it was nothing but shadows and fog, but David adjusted a dial on the camera and turned it toward Miranda. “Watch the screen.”
As her eyes lit on the monitor, the foggy image in front of her flickered, and …
“Oh my God.”
It had been a while since Miranda had seen her reflection—she’d seen the one in the mirror during the Rolling Stone interview for a few seconds—but she had found herself incredibly frustrated at having to get by without one; she had hair-and-makeup people for performances, but she never had any idea what they were sending her out looking like onstage. And for every night, she generally went without makeup at all and didn’t try to do much with the unruly mass of her hair. She had yet to master Deven’s ability to perfectly apply eyeliner by feel, and really, why bother when she was going to run and fight and sweat it all off?
The last time she’d seen herself, she’d been human … or a human on the verge of transition, with David’s blood in her veins. She’d still been pasty and unhealthy looking, with dark circles under her eyes.
“I forgot about that scar,” she said softly.
“I can cover it better if you want it to disappear,” Faith said. “It’s really faint.”
“No,” Miranda told her. “No … I want to see it. I earned it.”
Faith had spent nearly two hours working on Miranda’s face and hair for the ball and had wrought some sort of cosmetic miracle. The red tumble of curls had been secured atop her head, with a few tendrils artfully falling down into her face; the effect made her neck look longer, graceful, and even just in her bathrobe, she looked elegant and refined.
Miranda would
David gave him a slightly wicked grin. “Actually Hart’s in that one. I thought that was appropriate.”
“You are as delightfully evil as always,” Deven replied. “Now, to the matter at hand.”
David frowned. “What’s the matter?”
Deven sat down. “A few days ago I lost contact with the operative I had in Hart’s Elite.”
David bit off a curse. “So we have to assume the worst—he knows you were spying on him.”
“No, he knows the Red Shadow was spying on him. Even then, he’d have no idea why; the Shadow doesn’t normally work for vampires, so he’d most likely believe a human hired us.”
“Doesn’t normally? Does that mean you’ve changed your policy?”
“Irrelevant, David. The point is that even though Hart has no reason to suspect my involvement, nor any way to know on whose behalf Claret was working, he knows someone was watching him … and more important, I no longer have eyes on Hart. Whatever his plan is, we’re flying blind now.”
David nodded slowly, straightening, determination stepping up to stomp out the stirrings of fear. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We proceed as planned. Whatever he’s up to, we’re ready for it. Let him try something. If he makes a move on us, he’ll regret it.”
Three
“There … all done.”
Miranda took a deep breath. “How’s it look?”
Faith raised an eyebrow. “As usual, I recommend you wear a bag over your head.”
“Be serious, Faith! I can’t see it!”
“I can help you with that.”
Miranda looked up from the vanity—which wasn’t much of one, considering it had no mirror—to see David in the bathroom doorway, mostly dressed, with his laptop and some sort of odd contraption that looked a lot like a video camera. “What’s that?”
He gave her his “geek triumphant” smile and set the computer down on the counter, opened it, and plugged the camera into the USB port. “One moment, my Lady.”
Miranda exchanged a look with Faith, who was both amused and bemused; Miranda remembered that Faith had been helping David with his new toys, and they’d had some promising results.
“Now, this won’t be a perfect image, but …” David brought up a window and typed in a string of commands; another window popped up, this one a media player. At first it was nothing but shadows and fog, but David adjusted a dial on the camera and turned it toward Miranda. “Watch the screen.”
As her eyes lit on the monitor, the foggy image in front of her flickered, and …
“Oh my God.”
It had been a while since Miranda had seen her reflection—she’d seen the one in the mirror during the Rolling Stone interview for a few seconds—but she had found herself incredibly frustrated at having to get by without one; she had hair-and-makeup people for performances, but she never had any idea what they were sending her out looking like onstage. And for every night, she generally went without makeup at all and didn’t try to do much with the unruly mass of her hair. She had yet to master Deven’s ability to perfectly apply eyeliner by feel, and really, why bother when she was going to run and fight and sweat it all off?
The last time she’d seen herself, she’d been human … or a human on the verge of transition, with David’s blood in her veins. She’d still been pasty and unhealthy looking, with dark circles under her eyes.
“I forgot about that scar,” she said softly.
“I can cover it better if you want it to disappear,” Faith said. “It’s really faint.”
“No,” Miranda told her. “No … I want to see it. I earned it.”
Faith had spent nearly two hours working on Miranda’s face and hair for the ball and had wrought some sort of cosmetic miracle. The red tumble of curls had been secured atop her head, with a few tendrils artfully falling down into her face; the effect made her neck look longer, graceful, and even just in her bathrobe, she looked elegant and refined.
Miranda would
Similar Books
