She dragged him down the stairs and into the crowd, where the energy of human and vampire blended together into one desire-filled roar. All around her vampires were courting their prey, drawing them close, hands on hips and shoulders. The smells of sweat and blood were intoxicating, and she let herself be swept up into it.
She saw whom she wanted immediately: a college-aged girl done up in Goth, with black lipstick and hair streaked with bloodred. She was lovely, healthy, and having a great time with her friends; she also had no objection to dancing with a woman, so Miranda sidled up next to her and gently prodded her mind to get her attention.
“Wow,” the girl said. “Hey, aren’t you—”
“No talking,” Miranda replied. “Just come with me.”
She was aware of David watching as she slipped back into the rhythm, this time with the girl pressed in close. Miranda leaned her head toward the girl’s shoulder, letting her hair fall around to block the view as her teeth lengthened and she struck.
The girl stiffened for only a few seconds, and then she was moving again, and Miranda held her close, drinking deeply and quickly. The human tasted like youth and clove cigarettes, and Miranda released her with the usual mental commands.
She was unutterably grateful that since she had started killing on the new moon, the rest of the month it was as easy as it had always been to let her humans go. If she’d had to fight that impulse every night forever . . . she probably would have lost her mind.
David moved up and kissed her, and she tasted blood on his lips as he did on hers. She sucked it off his tongue and put her hands on his shoulders. “Feeling better?” she asked.
He kissed her again. “Some. I’m going to get a drink—I need to loosen up.”
“I support you, good sir, in your alcoholic endeavors.”
Grinning at her silliness, he made his way back through the crowd, just as someone else made his way toward her. She was surrounded mostly by mortals until a familiar immortal energy met hers and a hand curved around her waist.
She smiled. “Shouldn’t you be dancing with your husband?”
Deven spoke in her ear so he didn’t have to shout. “He doesn’t dance. Trust me, it’s a good thing. He’s got all the grace of a giraffe on meth.”
“Speaking of meth . . . I didn’t know you had a drug habit.”
He drew her back against him, and they rejoined the music together, the hand on her waist sliding down to her hip. “I wouldn’t call it a habit,” he said. “More of a hobby.”
“Looking for an escape?”
“Sometimes. I toned it down after Jonathan and I Paired—he doesn’t like the way I feel when I’m high. I try to use a bit more discretion these days.”
He held up his other hand just enough that she could see the little zippy bag he produced—two white pills, each marked with the number 21.
“Is that that Euphoria stuff Jonathan was telling me about?”
“It is indeed.” One pill disappeared. “Regular Ecstasy is in and out of our systems in half an hour. This lasts two full hours—long enough to have a fantastic time, but short enough to end by last call. It’s also a much cleaner high.”
“What does it do to you?”
“Haven’t you ever had Ecstasy?”
“I wouldn’t know where to get that kind of thing even if I wanted it. I’m guessing that stuff is a little harder to find than most.”
“There’s only one dealer in Sacramento and it’s two hundred dollars a pill.”
“Two hundred dollars? Good Lord.”
“Worth every penny.”
She could feel his energy changing. Parts of him that were always on guard relaxed a little, and the happiness he’d been feeling since the wedding deepened into something dark and sweet . . . and seductive . . . that wound around her like vines, tendrils of it making her shiver. Her own energy responded to his strongly, which she wasn’t expecting, and she drew in a fractured breath.
He turned her around so they were facing each other. “Trust me,” he said. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
She watched, spellbound, as he took the other pill and placed it on his tongue . . . and then, before she could react, he kissed her.
The thought of spitting the pill out never even occurred to her. She swallowed it, giving him an irritated look that he apparently thought was amusing.
Miranda felt another familiar presence and looked over to see Cora and Jacob on the edge of the crowd, dancing—far enough from the center that Cora wouldn’t feel trapped. Cora looked like she was having a good time, and Jacob was clearly enraptured at having his Queen doing a little bit of butt-shaking.
Olivia, too, had found someone to dance with—David. Miranda’s eyebrows shot up when she realized it was him. He glanced over at her, as if checking on her, and smiled.
She shot him a thumbs-up and looked away so he wouldn’t feel weird and could return his attention to his partner. She didn’t want him to think she was worried, or that she didn’t trust him; she wasn’t, and she did. She also didn’t want his friendship with Olivia to be strained because of jealousy, hers or otherwise. Miranda didn’t want a repeat of Faith any more than David did.
She looked around again, frowning. “Where’s Jonathan?”
“Feeding,” was the reply. “Or possibly fucking, I can’t tell.”
She stared at him. “On your wedding night?”
He laughed. “It didn’t change anything, Miranda. The same rules still apply. You know how much feeding turns us on—just like you know that back before he met you, David shagged every human he bit. Jonathan’s always been the same way. It’s perfectly natural. Now relax . . . you should be rolling any second now.”
She started to say something, but before the first word was out, she felt it. A wave passed through her body, igniting every inch of her skin; suddenly the air felt like it was stroking her, even as she breathed it in and out. Her clothes felt softer, the weight of her hair on her neck was unspeakably wonderful . . . sounds grew quieter, their edges worn down and blurry, though she could still understand words perfectly if she tried.
And though she would have been horrified ten minutes ago, she could feel her shields thinning out. They didn’t open, and didn’t even come close to falling, but let in way more than usual from the people nearest to her. It was strange and made her heart pound, but it was manageable.
She let herself reach out and taste their emotions, pushing away anything negative and drawing in the happiness, the arousal. Everything from falling in love to enjoying a particularly well-made margarita gave her more; she wrapped herself up in it. It felt like an endless psychic orgasm, without all the thrashing and screaming of the usual variety.
She closed her eyes for a moment, just feeling, but when she opened them again she gasped.
“What do you see?”
Miranda shook her head, unable to find words for a few seconds, and she blinked hard, hoping it would disappear—to no avail. “Threads,” she said, her nails digging into his arm. “The web of light—it followed me here.”
She could see it as clearly as in her dreams, light reaching out in every direction, connecting every single person in the club, from the human patrons to the Elite guards to the bartender to Cora’s dog. She could see it, and feel it, energy moving in slow rhythm with the music that surrounded them all, new connections being formed and others dissolving.
“I shouldn’t be seeing this,” she said, a note of fear entering her voice. “This isn’t my gift. I don’t understand why I keep seeing this.”
His arms encircled her reassuringly, and he said, as if such things happened every day, “It’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re getting a glimpse behind the curtain of reality—it must have something it wants you to see.”
She nodded. It had never occurred to her to think of the vision as something with its own consciousness, but if Stella was right and the manifest world was the party dress that a deity wore to dance with its creation, there must be a specific purpose to the dreams, and if she tried to get her fear out of the way maybe it would say its piece and go.
She let out a slow breath and tried to just let the vision do as it would, without latching on to any of it; she grounded herself as much as she could and let it flow, in and out, shifting with the heartbeat of the club. Her near-panic subsided little by little. It was only nature—she didn’t need to fear it. It reached out to her like an old friend, as if there had been a time, long ago, when she had been intimately familiar with every last strand.
And this time was different; it wasn’t trying to take her anywhere or push any knowledge into her mind. It just wanted to dance.
Miranda closed her eyes, leaned into the dark strength of her partner, and released all control over the night, her sense of individuality dissolving as if she had become a single strand in that tapestry of light, crossing and uncrossing a thousand others, enjoying the deep and ages-old connections between her and those she loved—a perfect circle, or getting there, held in the gentle sway of the hands that had fashioned the Web, hands that were guiding her toward something she would worry about tomorrow . . . tonight she reached out to her Circle, seven hearts all in love with each other and waiting for the last . . . and for one shining hour there was only love, and music, the feeling of hands on her body, and the mingled beauty of humanity and immortality all around her.
• • •
After he turned Miranda over to her Prime, Deven returned to the room where they’d left Vràna; he expected to see Cora there, but she must have gone back out again with Jacob. He had the room to himself, except of course for the dog; it was quite a relief after all the sensory stimulation beyond the door. He flopped into one of the chairs and closed his eyes, summoning the energy to push the drug through his system faster. It was close to the end anyway, but he didn’t want to wait.
He felt something big and shaggy bump against his hand, and smiled, scratching Vràna between the ears.
David had been rather put out that Deven got his wife high, but the way she shoved her Prime back against the wall and practically swallowed him whole seemed to make David more amenable to the situation. Deven had instructed him to take Miranda up to one of the back rooms and give her whatever she wanted for the next hour; they’d both enjoy themselves even more than Deven knew they already did. Cora and Jacob weren’t the only Pair he’d caught sexual echoes from. A few years ago that would have bothered him, but now, it was almost comforting—any of them feeling happy made him feel better along the connection they all shared. Tonight, there wasn’t an ocean separating any of them . . . the whole Circle, almost, in one place . . . it felt right, and good, and he knew he would miss it when they all parted.
A while later he heard the door open and shut, felt who it was, and smiled. “I was hoping you would come after me.”
“What are you doing?” Jonathan asked, folding himself onto the floor at Deven’s feet. Vràna let out a canine sigh and padded back over to the corner.
“Getting sober.”
“Why? I thought you loved that drug.”
“I do. But I was down there trying to decide whom to glue myself to next, and I realized the only person I wanted tonight was you. And I don’t want to be high with you . . . not tonight.”
The room started to feel normal again. The barriers in his mind drew shut, and in a few minutes his skin just felt like skin, the air just felt like air. It was always disappointing to come down off E21, particularly when the levels of dopamine and serotonin plummeted after the drug had used them all up—that was the reason it wasn’t sold to humans. The serotonin dump was so severe it would drive most mortals mad, if not straight to suicide. He was very careful to regulate the drug trade in Signet-affiliated businesses—police raids were an annoyance he didn’t need.
He opened his eyes and looked into Jonathan’s. “There,” he said. “It’s all me again.”
Jonathan laid his hand on Deven’s knee, and Deven traced over the ring, adding, “You know . . . I thought I was just doing this for you, because I’ve done so little to make you happy all these years. But it turns out . . .” He lifted Jonathan’s hand and kissed the ring. “I loved marrying you tonight, Jonathan. And I love that we’re married. Thank you for asking me.”
The Consort returned the gesture. They smiled at each other. “Thank you for saying yes,” Jonathan said.
“Let’s get everyone back up here . . . I want to go home.”
Jonathan found Deven’s phone and sent a group text. Then he sent another, this time to their drivers. “The limos will be here in twenty,” he said.
First back were Jacob and Cora; the Queen was flushed but smiling and looked as though she’d had a drink or two. A few minutes later Olivia arrived—her clothes were in something of a disarray, suggesting that after leaving the dance floor when David left her, she’d gone off and found someone else to pass the time with.
Miranda’s and David’s clothes were not in disarray, but energetically it would have been hard to miss what they’d been up to. Miranda was just barely still high; by now she’d be feeling like herself, just a little fuzzy, and hopefully her visions would have ceased not long after she hit the peak.
He had the sudden intuitive flash that she had been having those visions for a while now, and that she hadn’t told anyone about it, not even David. She wasn’t a Weaver—what on earth could she possibly need to see in there? The possibilities it suggested were not pleasant.
Deven’s phone alerted him to a text. “The cars are out front,” he said. “Is everyone ready?”
Nods all around.
“Twice in one night,” Olivia said, looking queasy at the thought. “Consider my willingness to barf all over Sacramento your wedding gift.”
“I was hoping for a gravy boat,” Jonathan replied.
“Do we all know exactly what to do?” David asked.
“We’ve been over it fifty times,” Jacob pointed out. “I think we’re good.”
“All right,” Deven said, standing up. “Let’s go.”
• • •
Seven vampires walked out of the club and got in the limousines with an Elite escort that lined both sides of the path from door to door. Two cars pulled away from the club and headed down the street, bearing east toward the highway and then south out of the city.