Lost in Time

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “I’m sorry,” Oliver said thickly. “I didn’t know where I was for a moment. It won’t happen again.”

  “Good, because you sure as hell don’t want to get stuck down here. Besides, she’s not worth it, you know. She left you,” Mimi said. She hadn’t meant it unkindly; she was only stating a fact. Truly, Schuyler and Jack deserved each other.

  They were both disloyal and worthless.

  Oliver decided to ignore the dis, and changed the subject.

  “What would have happened?” he asked. “If I’d stayed with that… thing.”

  “I’m not sure, but it wouldn’t have been pretty.”

  Oliver could imagine it. He would have married the siren under the belief that he was living a real life with Schuyler by his side. But little by little, the illusion would fade—not in one quick shot like today, but slowly, over time, the wraith would tire of the charade, and the mask would begin to slip. He would discover he was bound to a harpy, to a monster, that he had shackled himself to a soulless creature who would taunt him day and night, mock him for his doomed love. Thank god Mimi had interrupted when she did.

  Besides, he did not want to think of Schuyler in that way.

  He did not want to admit that even if he had been cured of the familiar’s kiss, he still loved her. He had loved her before she’d taken his blood, and so that love would always be part of him, whether he was her familiar or not. He strove to hold on to the memory of his happiness for his friend at her bonding, when he had felt strong and brave and generous. He had been able to be truly happy for her then, and the doppelganger had taken that feeling away from him. He wasn’t proud of himself, and he hated himself for succumbing to his dark fantasies. He wasn’t that guy. He had given Schuyler away, had shaken Jack’s hand. Oliver felt as if he had betrayed everyone by giving in to his deepest and most secret desire. Worse, he had betrayed himself. He was better than that.

  “You don’t have to apologize or explain,” Mimi said gently. “That test, what you just went through… it was cruel.”

  She tried not to think too hard about it, especially since she planned to leave him down here, which meant he was doomed to live exactly that sort of misery for all eternity.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” he said, shrugging. “Let’s just find Kingsley and get out of here. Hell isn’t as fun as I thought.

  Let’s get this over with.”

  FIFTEEN

  The Bendix Diamond

  Thegianttoweringredwoodswereamarvel,somethemost beautiful and majestic beings ever to grace the earth. Allegra remembered when they were planted, at the dawn of the universe, and once in every few cycles she strove to visit them, to smell the air that was the closest earth came to Paradise.

  Hence the Redwood Room was one of her favorite bars in San Francisco. She was happy to find it was still the same, still a soaring space with that long, enormous bar. Legend said that it was made from the trunk of one redwood tree. The bar had been through many different owners, but since it was now housed in the hip Clift hotel, it was considered young and trendy enough that Charles would never think to step inside.

  Her twin was a staunch traditionalist, and loathed such things as Louis Quatorze furniture rendered in plastic, which could be found at the Redwood Room in great abundance.

  Allegra found Ben sitting at a back table, and she slipped into the banquette, feeling sheepish. Twice now she had run from him, and twice now she had returned. “I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to leave so abruptly,” she said.

  “I seem to bring that out in you,” Ben said, sounding amused. He appeared to have recovered from his earlier embarrassment. The preppie façade was back in place, along with his lopsided grin. “What are you having?” he asked.

  “Martini.”

  “Old-school.” He smiled and motioned to the waitress, then placed their orders.

  They looked at each other across the table, a heavy silence hanging between them until Allegra could bear it no longer.

  “Ben…”

  “Legs, hold on. Before you say anything, let me explain. I wanted you to see the paintings because they were of you. But I did those years ago, right when you left me.” He leaned over and was about to say more, when a girl joined their table. It was the pretty brunette from the gallery.

  “Hi sweetie,” she said, kissing Ben on the lips. She smiled at Allegra.

  “Allegra, this is Renny. Renny, you’ve met Allegra,” Ben said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Renny and Benny!” Renny giggled. “Nice to see you again. Ben said we were meeting you here. You should have told me you were his old friend when you bought the painting.” The girl beamed at her and put a possessive hand on Ben’s shoulder.

  Allegra kept smiling and nodding, speechless for a moment, and she was relieved when Renny excused herself to chat with some friends she’d spotted across the room.

  They watched her go, and Ben turned back to Allegra. “I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression. Renny hasn’t seen those other paintings of you. mother wanted me to put them away years ago, but I wanted you to see them. I needed you to see them. But like I said, they were the work I did right after Endicott, after you disappeared.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine….” He waved off her apology. “I know you changed me. I could feel it. Sometimes I would wake up and just… need you so much. But then I started painting, and it got better, little by little.”

  “And you’re okay,” she said brightly.

  “Yes.” He studied her. “I didn’t want you to go back to New York worrying about me. I wanted you to know that I went through hell—but it’s all right, I survived.” He blushed.

  “Sorry to be so melodramatic, but it’s why I invited you to the studio. I just wanted you to see them.”

  Allegra gave him a brilliant smile. “I’m so glad. She seems like a wonderful girl.”

  “She is. Smart. She keeps me grounded.” Ben cleared his throat. “We’re getting married in the spring.”

  Allegra nodded and took a sip from her martini glass, forcing the cold liquid down her throat. She could not begrudge him a wedding, especially since she herself was getting bonded to Charles soon.

  “I figured, why wait, right? When you’ve met the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with, why wait at all.” Ben sighed. “Renny’s good for me.”

  “And your family?” Allegra had to ask. Do they like her?

  Does your mother wish it was me?

  Ben smirked. “Mother isn’t terribly pleased. She thinks I should wait.”

  Allegra tried not to show that she agreed with mrs. Chase.

  It did feel as if Ben was rushing into this—and what was the reason for it?

  “But I don’t want to.”

  “Good for you.” Allegra finished the rest of her drink. “I’m so happy for you. I’m happy for you both.”

  Renny made her way back to the table and sat next to Ben. “What did I miss?”

  “Congratulations. Ben told me the good news.” Allegra smiled as Ben kissed his fiancée’s hand. She could not help but notice the diamond the size of a meteor on the girl’s finger. Renny laughed and waved her hand, sending waves of light across the room. “I know it’s a bit much, isn’t it?” she asked Allegra in a conspiratorial tone. “I told Ben I didn’t need a ring, but he insisted. It’s the Bendix diamond. It was designed for his great-grandmother by Alfred Van Cleef himself.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Allegra called to the cocktail waitress. “A bottle of your finest champagne, please. We’re celebrating.”

  Ben looked pleased and abashed at the same time, while Renny beamed. The waitress set a magnum of champagne in a silver bucket in the center of the table, and Ben did the honors, popping the cork and pouring three glasses of the frothy, bubbly liquid. The champagne was perfect: bracingly cold, tart and smoky. Allegra did not know how she was able to keep a smile plastered on her face for the entire evening, but she manag
ed, ordering up bottle after bottle of champagne, her vampire blood immune to the alcohol content. It gave her a small dark satisfaction to hear Renny complaining of room spin after a few rounds.

  As the happy couple nuzzled at the table, Allegra decided she would call the service first thing tomorrow morning.

  Charles was right, as usual. She didn’t know why it had taken her five years to figure it out, but it was time to move on. Ben had.

  SIXTEEN

  Holy Water

  The demon children had crimson eyes with silver pupils, and when they hissed they showed their forked tongues. They parted easily as Schuyler and Dehua charged through them, but only when Schuyler put a hand on Deming’s wrist did she understand why.

  Deming was a doppelganger, and she faded into the mist when Schuyler touched her. It was a trap. In seconds, Schuyler and Dehua were surrounded by the Nephilim. There was a scream from a far corner, and they saw the real Deming tied to a column, flames of Black Fire nipping her ankles.

  “NO!” Dehua screamed as she moved to save her sister.

  But soon she too was lost under a fury of blows from their enemies.

  Schuyler thrust forward with her blade, and her parry was met with the heavy steel of a demon axe. The Hell-born human laughed horribly and slashed, and Schuyler felt a cold and shooting pain as his weapon met its mark, cutting her deeply in the middle of her chest.

  The Nephilim raised its axe again to finish her off, but suddenly a sword—shining with the pure light of heaven—appeared and cut the black axe deftly in half. Help at last! The new Venator made quick work of the demons surrounding them, and soon the room was filled with the smell of death and blood. The Nephilim broke ranks and fled. Dehua, blood-ied and scratched, had survived, and she ran to untie Deming.

  “How many lost?” their unknown hero asked the twins.

  He was tall and dark-haired, with a classically beautiful face—a cleft chin, and a dreamy gentleness in his deep-set eyes.

  Deming shook her head. “They burned everything else. I was able to save just one canister,” she said, removing a small golden urn from her pack.

  “The Regent of Cairo is taking a felucca to the safe house in Luxor,” the stranger said. “Take the back roads to the river and give this to him.”

  The Venators nodded and left to deliver the last of the blood spirits of the Egyptian Coven to its surviving leader.

  From the floor, Schuyler groaned. The Nephilim’s sword carried the Black Fire in its poisoned tip. It burned with a dull throbbing ache, as her blood gushed from the wound, pooling underneath her shirt.

  “How bad?” the handsome Venator asked, kneeling next to her. “Your blood is red. You are the Dimidium Cognatus.

  Gabrielle’s daughter.” He said it matter-of-factly, without prejudice.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Where are you hurt?”

  She lifted her shirt and showed him where she had been cut—right next to her heart, a deep, ugly wound.

  “You are lucky,” he said, pressing his fingers on the wound. “A few inches to the right and the poison would have entered your heart. You would not have survived. Still, we must work quickly.”

  He looked at her kindly. His hands were gentle, but Schuyler felt her eyes water from the pain as he ministered to her wound. He produced a small bottle, engraved with a golden cross.

  “You’re a healer,” Schuyler coughed. The Venators were organized thus: investigator, healer, soldier, high command.

  He nodded and poured a few drops. Schuyler had to bite her hand to stop from screaming. It burned like acid on the wound. But slowly it dissolved the wound and dissipated the poison until there was nothing left but a small scar.

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to heal all the way. You’ll always carry that mark,” the healer said. “But things could be worse.” He gave her the bottle. “Here, drink some of it. It will clear out any of the poison left. It’s holy water.”

  Schuyler took a gulp. “This isn’t what they have in churches.”

  “No.” He smiled. “Red Bloods…” He shrugged. “This is water from the fountain,” he said. “From the gardens of Paradise, a long time ago.”

  The water was the purest, cleanest Schuyler had ever tasted. She felt renewed and revived, as if her body was beginning to knit itself together.

  She pulled her shirt together and sat up. “Thank you.”

  The man nodded. “You’re welcome. The Venators tell me that you came to Cairo looking for Catherine of Siena.”

  “Yes. What do you know of Catherine?”

  “Unfortunately, I am looking for her as well.” He held out his hand. “I seem to have forgotten my manners. I am known in this part of the world as Mahrus Abdelmassih. I live in Jordan now, but a long time ago I was a healer in Rome. Catherine of Siena is my sister.”

  SEVENTEEN

  The Demon of Avarice

  The rain did not stop, and they drove for hours under the dark and thunderous skies. The road was changing and they were no longer alone, as there was traffic in all directions.

  Oliver wondered where they were going. They were no longer in Not-Nantucket, nor anywhere that resembled the eastern coast of the United States, and still the rain continued to pour and flood the highways. But as suddenly as it began, the rain stopped abruptly, and the two-lane highway expanded to a roaring eight-lane freeway, with overpasses that swooped in every direction.

  Mimi looked up at a blinking freeway sign. It read: TAKE

  THE NEXT EXIT. “I think that’s for us,” she said, accelerating in-to the right lane. The exit took her to a wide boulevard of skyscrapers, and a valet wearing a shiny red jacket waved her into the driveway of the tallest and shiniest building on the street.

  The valet line was filled with a row of expensive and rare European cars.

  “Right in there,” the valet directed, pointing toward the glass doors. “They’re expecting you.”

  “You were wrong; they do have valets in Hell,” Oliver joked. He noticed the valet was wearing a silver collar around his neck. So the trolls did run the place. They were the invisible hands that made sure the trains ran on time and dinner was never late. The slave labor of the underworld.

  Oliver scratched his face, feeling a sudden five o’clock shadow on his chin. When he passed through the doors he noticed his reflection. He was wearing a flannel shirt, a beret, aviator sunglasses, baggy blue jeans, and expensive sneakers.

  “I look like a douche,” he said.

  “Stop complaining,” Mimi said, puckering her lips at the glass. For this part of the journey she was dressed in a trendy outfit: tight jeans, high heels, a slouchy and comfortable black sweater. She had sunglasses on her head and an expensive handbag on her arm. She almost felt like herself again.

  Through the glass doors was an expansive marble lobby.

  Mimi walked to the elevator and pressed up. When the elevator doors opened to the top floor, they found themselves in yet another stark and beautiful lobby. Everything in the place had been designed to intimidate and disconcert, to make a person feel small and humble and not quite pretty enough.

  Oliver followed Mimi to the reception desk, where three good-looking she-trolls in headsets fielded calls. The headsets were made of silver, and wrapped around their necks like dog collars. No blood, though. The nearest one smiled when they came closer. “Yes?”

  “Mimi Force and uh… Oliver Hazard-Perry. We’re expected,” Mimi said.

  “Of course. Have a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  They walked toward the uncomfortable but beautiful furniture. Another impossibly gorgeous girl troll in an improb-ably chic outfit approached them. Her silver collar was a choker, and Oliver could swear it glittered with diamonds.

  “Mimi? Oliver?” she asked. “Can I get you anything? Water?

  Coffee? Iced tea?”

  Mimi shook her head. “I’m good.”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” Oliver said. When the ass
istant left, he turned to Mimi. “What’s this all about? Where are we?”

  “I think Helda’s going to make me an offer,” Mimi said. It was another temptation, another obstacle to keep her from what she truly wanted.

  As soon as Mimi explained, it suddenly clicked, and Oliver understood why everything looked so familiar. Since Helda was making Mimi an offer, their environment had been designed to look and feel like a sleek Hollywood agency.

  They waited for an hour; the assistants continued to hover and brought drinks even though they hadn’t ordered them.

  Oliver felt itchy in his jeans as the fabric scratched. “How long do we have to wait?” He hoped it wasn’t as long as their drive through Limbo.

  “Unpredictable,” Mimi huffed.

  Finally the assistant returned, and this time she didn’t ask them what they wanted to drink. “Come on back,” she said, with the pat smile of a stewardess or restaurant hostess.

  “Wait here. Don’t drink that,” Mimi warned. Oliver spat out the coffee in his mouth, and Mimi followed the assistant into a large office with a spectacular view of rolling green hills dotted with Spanish-tiled rooftops.

  The demon sitting at the desk was turned away from her, with his legs on the armrest of his chair. He twirled around and winked at her. “She’s here in my office right now. Yes, I’ll tell her. Sounds good. We’ll do lunch. There’s a new place that everyone is raving about. You can’t get a reservation but I know the owner. All right. Good-bye. Talk later.” He removed his headset and turned to Mimi with a crafty smile on his face.

  He had slicked-back hair and a shiny suit, and he was handsome in the way that powerful men are. He had an aura of confidence, wealth, and ruthlessness. His cuff links gleamed in the sunlight, a hard silver glow. “Azrael! Sexy! Been too long, babe,” he said, getting up and giving her a bear hug.

  “Mamon,” she said. “I see you’ve redecorated.”

  “You like the ninja thing? It’s very in now, or so my over-priced designer tells me.” His face broke into a broad grin. “So how’s life been? I hear things aren’t so great up there lately.