Previously on Trancing Miranda
Miranda and Nick leave Conjure Moon. Miranda puts the Our Lady of Guadalupe statue in the trunk while Nick reads through the notes Layla has given them on Tony Gyari. Nick asks Miranda if he can visit her at work and agrees. She knows he is charming her but she is still affected.
Nick had just pulled into his driveway when a familiar prickling sensation told him that another vampire was waiting. He drove around a small stand of hemlock and saw that it was Ragnar.
Ragnar had parked the black Harley-Davidson in the shadow of the big hemlocks that surrounded the house. He was leaning against the bike, looking at his phone. His hair was hanging down, loose to his shoulders, and his face was bright with reflected light.
The crows were calling back and forth in the trees overhead, and Nick remembered something Ragnar had said once, about how the ravens had once followed his people from one battle to the next.
Nick got out of the car. “Hello, Ragnar. Thank you for coming.”
“I returned your text,” Ragnar said without looking up. “Then I waited. For almost twenty minutes.”
“A lifetime,” Nick said as he crossed the driveway and opened the door.
Ragnar preceded Nick into the entryway, kicked off his motorcycle boots with a sigh, and stepped into the nearest pair of guest slippers. Nick took off his shoes as well, and put on his favorite black moccasins.
They stepped into the living room and Ragnar took a critical look at the large, open-concept space. “I thought you redecorated.”
“I did.”
Ragnar took a seat on the sofa. “It looks the same.” He grinned. “Still bland.”
Nick took two cut-crystal glasses and a carafe of scotch from the sideboard and set them down on the coffee table. “You’d like Visoka better.”
“I liked Foxmore.”
The manor house. Where they had hunted and drunk French wine and vied for Arianne’s attention. And Nick had won, or lost, depending on your perspective.
But he didn’t want to talk about England or think of it. “I kept the cannon at Visoka.”
Ragnar’s bright eyes sharpened. “Is there an armory?”
Nick would have to invite him now.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. Time spent with Ragnar was never wasted. It was the place itself. His ancestral home. Cold and damp and full of shadows. “There is. I hope you will visit next time I’m in residence.”
They agreed to it and drank the scotch. The sun shone weakly through the frosted glass, and the silence was comfortable.
“Have you learned anything?” Nick asked at last.
“Boucher was in France. When he heard of Suzera’s release, he returned. Security has been increased but Suzera has not been spotted.”
“But he may be here.” Nick finished the scotch. “Hoping to succeed where he failed before.”
“And redeem himself in the eyes of his father.”
Nick had forgotten that Ragnar knew Raphael Suzera and that, like many immortali, had a grudging respect for the old vampire.
Nick refilled Ragnar’s glass. “Boucher has a cousin. Her name is Miranda.”
“I’ve heard her mentioned.”
“She’s the girl I told you about,” Nick said. “I was hoping you could keep tabs on her for a day or two. I’d like to know what she’s up to.”
If Ragnar was surprised that Miranda was the girl from the Black Goddess, he didn’t show it. “Of course.”
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© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.
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