There was no way around it. Her keyboard was simply not a B?sendorfer.
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 B?sendorfer, 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.”
“Thanks.” Miranda returned to the couch and sat back down, forcing herself to ask the question she’d had in mind since Faith had knocked on her door. “So . . . how is he?”
“A miserable bastard,” she answered, “which I’m sure you knew.”
“This is pathetic, isn’t it? I sound like a moon-eyed teenage girl. I’m not even really sure how I feel about him, and . . . God, it’s even making me sick. Next thing you know I’m going to start writing poetry and wearing too much eyeliner.”
A laugh. “It’s not so bad. Of the two of you, you’re definitely handling it better.”
Miranda’s eyes fell on the folder of music she’d thrown to the floor earlier. “Just take care of him for me, would you? You’re the only one we can trust.”
Faith smiled oddly at the word we. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You have my word.”