"Let's have it."

"Quit fucking around and go see her."

When David hung up, he heard someone clear her throat in the doorway and saw Faith waiting to speak to him, the very picture of professional courtesy.

He shook his head in exasperation. "Thank you, Faith. Now I have both of them to contend with. Better yet, they're giving me conflicting advice when I don't want any at all."

Faith shrugged. "I thought you might listen to him."

He glared at her. "Do you think this is easy for me? Don't you think I want more than anything to go see her?"

"Then why don't you?"

"It would make everything so much harder in the long run to drag this out instead of having a clean break. She has a chance to live her life now and be happy. I'm not going to show up and keep reminding her of what happened here."

"But what if . . . and this is just a thought, obviously . . . what if she feels the same way about you?"

He lowered his eyes and went back to the wires and tiny screws. "Then I pity her."

Faith made an exasperated noise and stood there for a minute, but he ignored her. Finally she said, "The night's reports are on your server. I'm off."

"Fine."

Alone again, David tried to keep working, but he broke the same wire three times before he gave up. He picked up his phone and scrolled through the contact list: twenty-six Primes, several Queens, one Consort, the White House, the governors of all eight of the territory's states, Downing Street, the Department of Defense . . . and the mobile number for a human female, Miranda Grey.

He stared at the entry for a long time. All he had to do was hit a button and he'd hear her voice.

Cursing under his breath, he shoved the phone into his pocket and pushed himself back from the table, snatching his coat from the back of the chair and heading to the suite to find the good whiskey.

"I'm in for the morning, Samuel," he told the door guard. "See to it I'm not disturbed."

"As you will it, Sire."

He shut the door and hung his coat on its usual hook, removing his blade to hang beside the door and running his hand along the sheath with a sigh. He'd had many weapons over the years, but this one-a gift from the Pair of California the year he had taken the Southern Signet-was his favorite. It was shorter than those used by the Elite, with a slight curve, exquisitely forged and polished like a diamond. The edge had never once gone dull, and it was perfectly balanced. Over the years it had parted dozens of treacherous heads from shoulders. He didn't know all that much about metallurgy, but he was aware that it was worth a small fortune.

He glanced over at the fireplace, where another sword, much older, hung, still gleaming even in its retirement. It was about the same size but heavier, made of a lesser grade of steel back in his lieutenant days in California. The last thing he had used it for was to kill Prime Auren.

He remembered that night well, a mere blink of an eye past for his kind. He had taken the Prime by surprise, but that was no guarantee of victory. Auren was a skilled warrior. The fight had gone on for almost an hour, but David had been watching him for months, learning his weaknesses in battle.

The crowd that gathered to see him take the Signet from the body had stared in openmouthed bewilderment. No one had expected Auren to die. His reign was supposed to last for centuries.

David walked over to pour himself a drink, digging out the new bottle of Jack he'd had Esther bring up-to hell with what Deven thought.

As he drained the first glass and started working on a second, he crossed the room to a wood cabinet set back in the corner and unlocked it.

Remnants of his past were kept inside: Lizzie's wedding ring, stolen from her newly dug grave; a handful of letters; a silk scarf that still smelled softly of jasmine; a few valuable items from his travels that he couldn't quite give up but didn't want to look at every day; the first clumsy circuit board he'd ever built.

He reached up to the top shelf and removed a black metal lockbox; inside that was another box, about six inches square, hand carved from ebony with the Seal of the Southern Prime worked into it. Each Prime had his own Seal, but it was a variation of this one, a stamp of his identity as well as his territory.

Carefully, he opened the wooden box, revealing a large red stone set into silver and hung on a heavy chain. It was almost identical to the one he wore, though just a shade smaller; and where his stone glowed faintly from the touch of his power, this one was dark, the mystical force inside it asleep as it had been for many years.

David put the outer box back in the cabinet and locked the doors, taking the Signet with him to the sofa, where he sank down into the cushions, staring at the dormant bloodred stone.

No one alive knew for certain where the Signets had come from or who had made them. He had asked, in the beginning, but was met only with silence as his answer. Somehow over the centuries that knowledge had been lost, and as far as he could tell no one cared all that much what the truth was. Only David seemed to understand that any force powerful enough to create the Signets had to be stronger than a Prime, and that meant they weren't at the top of the food chain the way they believed themselves to be. Somewhere, at some time in history, there had been a greater power at work among vampire kind. It may even still exist.

He had seen a Signet choose its bearer at least twice before his own. He thought back to the last night of warfare in Sacramento, when they had taken over the base of operations where the Blackthorn were hiding out, recovering Arrabicci's stolen Signet and returning it to the Haven where it belonged. He had handed the Signet to Deven for safekeeping, and the stone inside it had blazed to life, the light flashing like an alarm until it was around his neck. He could still remember the stunned look on Deven's face when he realized he had been chosen, and he remembered the enormous surge of power that had swept through the whole building, wrapping itself around the new Prime.

Only a few months after that, a chance meeting in a bar had led the Prime to his Consort. As soon as the Signet recognized Jonathan it began to pulse again, and later they found the second one doing the same safe in its box at the Haven. The two vampires had known each other for all of ten minutes, but the second the Signet flashed, they both smiled like the moon coming out from the clouds. They could feel the connection between them instantly, and it was, as were all Signets, a perfect match.

David had spent his remaining years in California happy for his friend and yet insanely, poisonously jealous. Leaving had been a relief.

He touched the sleeping stone with one finger, and a drowsy flicker of light appeared in acknowledgment. It knew him, of course. The stones weren't exactly sentient, but they definitely had a will. He could feel his like a quiet murmur of energy in the back of his mind, never invasive, but always with him. Again, he wondered who could have created such a thing.

Only a vampire could wake the Signet, but it was possible, however unlikely, that contact with someone who could potentially bear it might do . . . something.

And if he had shown it to Miranda, then what? What if he took the leap of faith and changed her, and the Signet didn't respond? Was she supposed to live in the mistress suite for all time on condition that he never found his true Queen? He knew she would never be content with that, and he wouldn't ask her to become a vampire unless he knew for sure he was hers.

What were the chances of that? There were a million vampires at last census, and of those only one could possibly be his match, assuming she was even born yet. Assuming circumstance ever led them to each other, it could be a hundred years from now.

He slammed the box lid shut and put it on the coffee table. This was stupid. He was torturing himself, and for what? Let the others go on about destiny all they liked. Destiny was just a way of denying responsibility for one's own actions. People lived and died by their choices, regardless of what a blinking rock had to say about it.

There was no time to wallow in self-pity, not with so much at stake. People could be dying in the city while he sat here moping over things that would never be.

She wasn't coming back. She had her own life to live, and he had his.

Enough was enough. He had work to do.

There was no way around it. Her keyboard was simply not a Bosendorfer.

Compared to the grand old dame in the Haven, her digital instrument sounded small and tinny. She could have hooked it up to the world's biggest amplifier and it still would have sounded like a toy xylophone after she'd had a chance to play the Imperial Grand.

She had spent hours on the bench in front of the grand, feeding her sorrow and longing into the keys as well as using the music to soothe the frustrations of an immortal warrior/diplomat. The piano was as regal as the Prime, as rich as the Haven itself, and she had adored every inch of it. She tried fiddling with the settings on her Yamaha to approximate the sound, but the most she could do was make it sound like she was playing at the bottom of a well.

She patted the keyboard and told it, "Don't feel bad. She was like a vacation. You're the real thing, baby."

The real thing, like real life, was a pale imitation of what she had lost.

Days dragged by, and she dragged herself along with them. She went through the motions and tried valiantly to feel more than passing interest in her old life. She hung out with Kat; she finally went to the grocery store; she did laundry and checked her e-mail. She even got in touch with Mel about going back onstage.

She expected him to be angry at her disappearance, but she'd never signed a contract, and musicians weren't known for their reliability in this city. In fact, she'd created enough buzz while she was still performing that when she vanished, she became the talk of the town. Rumors flew, mostly involving drug addiction and nervous breakdown. Mel was more than happy to have her back, given how many people had asked him about her while she was gone.

Her first gig was Friday. She had until then to convince herself it was a good idea.

So far her shields had held up. She'd been working on refining her technique while she was at home, figuring out how to thin the barrier out and pick out a single person's surface emotions without intruding. Still, she hadn't been around a big crowd yet. She'd even gone food shopping after midnight when the store was practically empty, just as she had always done Before.

Miranda paged through her collection of sheet music, trying to decide on a set list. She had actually been working on a few original songs, but none of them were anywhere near ready.

She came across her faded old copy of Tori Amos's "Silent All These Years" and found a lump rising into her throat. It was the first song she'd played on the Bosendorfer, the first song she'd played for David.

She shoved the song back into its folder and tossed it on the floor. Not that one. Not now.

A knock on her front door made her start so hard she nearly fell over.

Wary, she approached the peephole from the side, her heart pounding. For just a split second she held out a hope that maybe . . .

When she saw who it was, she smiled broadly and threw open the door.

Faith, caught off guard by the hug Miranda bundled her into, grunted in surprise, then laughed. "It's good to see you, too."

"Come in!"

It was a little weird seeing Faith out of uniform. She had come into the city in a leather jacket over dark jeans and a wine-colored sweater, her myriad braids clipped back from her face. In her high-heeled boots she looked sophisticated and exotic, not deadly, but Miranda would bet she had at least one knife on her somewhere.

Faith looked around the apartment with interest. "Not bad," she commented, taking off her jacket.

Miranda ushered her to the couch and offered her a beer, which she accepted. "I'm getting used to it. I had to get curtains in here, though. I wish I knew where to get metal shutters."

Faith chuckled. She scrutinized Miranda for a moment before saying, "You're looking much better."

"I guess."

"How are you?"

She held Miranda's gaze for a second, and Miranda knew what she was really asking. "I'm okay. I never thought I'd say so, but I miss the Haven."

The Second smiled again. "It gets in your blood, this life. I've lived on my own, and I can't imagine doing it again."

They chatted for a while about Miranda's apartment and what she'd been up to for the last two months, then moved on to Haven gossip; Faith told her that there had only been three attacks by the insurgents since she'd left, but that everyone expected all hell to break loose any second.

"Is the sensor network up yet?" Miranda asked.

"No, but it's getting there. The initial tests went well. It's probably going to take another month to get it live, though."

She knew that every day that passed, every human who died would torment David, and he would do everything he could to get the network running even if it meant he gave up luxuries like sleep.

"Make sure he's getting some rest," she said.

There was a pause, Faith holding her beer up to the lamplight, then clearing her throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

The Second licked her lips a little uncomfortably. "Do you love him?"

Miranda gripped the arm of the couch. "I don't know."

Faith raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What do you mean, you don't know? I saw that kiss, and I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. Everyone knew, except maybe you two."

Frustrated, Miranda found herself blinking back angry tears-damn it, she'd sworn she wasn't going to cry over this anymore-and stood up, walking over to the window. "What kind of person would I be if I loved someone who kills people?"

"You've killed people."

Miranda smiled bitterly. "Exactly."

"People love soldiers and police officers. The president has a wife, and he's given orders that got people killed, all without getting his hands dirty. I guess it's more civilized if it's out of sight, out of mind."

She sighed. "I have no idea. It doesn't make any difference now anyway."

"It makes all the difference in the world. You could come back."

"No, I can't. I'm stuck here in the human world for the rest of my life, even though I know there's more out there. What do I do with that, Faith?"

"The way things are now isn't how they have to stay." She faced Faith. "What about you? If I asked you . . . would you turn me?"

Faith's eyes went wide. "Turn you into a vampire?"

"No, turn me into a frog. Could you do it?"

Faith finished her beer in one long swallow. "I might be able to, physically. But I wouldn't."

Miranda had known she would say that, but still, her heart sank. "Why not?"

She laughed. "Because my boss would kill me."

Miranda turned away again, muttering, "Forget I asked. It was dumb."

"Yes, it was, but not for the reason you think. Look, Miranda . . . nobody would like to see you come home as much as I would, but right now you're not thinking clearly. Remember what you said? That you wouldn't give up your humanity for a man? Because here's the thing-just one reason, even love, isn't enough. Neither is being lonely or depressed about your life. You have to know with every fiber of your being that it's what you want."

Miranda couldn't look at her; there were tears on her face again. "I don't know if I can do this."

Faith stood up and came to stand next to her at the window. "What is it they say about learning to crawl before you can walk?"

Wiping her eyes, she nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm just scared and confused, and I guess I'm looking for a way out of reality." She looked at Faith and tried a smile. "I'm glad you came."

"So am I. Is there anything you need? Anything I can help you with?" she amended, knowing full well, as Miranda did, that what she needed, she couldn't have.

Miranda took a deep breath. "Actually there is something. Do you think . . . could you teach me to fight?"

She was almost pleased. She'd managed to surprise Faith more than once in one night, a thing unheard of. The Second crossed her arms and considered the question.

"I don't think I'll have time," Faith replied reluctantly. "I'm on duty most of the week, and on call when I'm not on duty-but I can introduce you to someone who can. A specialist, you might say."

"Good. I'd like that."

"Why the sudden interest?"

"I have to learn to take care of myself," Miranda told her, hearing the hollowness in her own voice. "Nobody else is going to do it for me. I've barely left the house in two months. I can't live like this anymore. Maybe if I know I can defend myself I won't be so afraid all the time."

Faith was looking at her keenly, but nodded. "I think you're right. I'll give you her card."