White Nights: A Vampires of Manhattan Novel

by Melissa de la Cruz

  There wasn’t much to pack up at home, or the place Edon had called home, in the loosest sense of the word, since he’d been assigned here last September. It was just a dingy room in Chinatown that another wolf had recommended, much more his style than the Midtown apartment block the Coven had arranged for him. All he needed was an efficiency – a bed and a basin. He kept his stash of worn jeans, t-shirts and flannel shirts folded in an open duffel. Boots he wore summer and winter, so he had an extra pair, and getting them re-soled and stitched every year was his sole extravagance. Not a real extravagance either, not for a foot soldier like him. A necessity.

  Unlike Ara in her Williamsburg pit, he liked things clean and tidy in his den. Nothing rotting in the fridge, nothing festering under the bed. He was almost obsessive about cleaning the shower and the countertop, but that was because wolves didn’t like to leave traces of themselves anywhere. Ara liked to tease him about his regular Monday drop-offs at the drycleaners, where he got his bed linen, towels and clothes washed and folded. So domestic, she said. Like a well-trained office worker, she said. Really, she was the feral one, stewing in her mess of take-out boxes, rumpled sheets and greying clothes. Nobody who knew her in her past life as Minty Scott, private-school priss in a plaid skirt and embossed blazer, would even recognize her these days.

  No wonder he found her so attractive.

  Someone was knocking at his door. Three soft taps, as regular as code. He’d know those taps anywhere.

  He opened the door to Ara, her eyes wild with exhaustion and anxiety, her short platinum hair on end. Normally she stood straight and tall, legs firmly planted in her heavy boots, a determined look on her face as though she were about to charge into battle. This Ara was a shadow of her usual self, though even off-duty she still wore the all-black uniform of the Venator.

  “Angel,” he said, smiling even though she looked so wrung out. “I was planning on coming over to see you on my way to the airport.”

  She looked so distraught, he pulled her into his arms and rocked her over the threshold. The feeling of her lean, angular body was both familiar and a thrill, like the curve of her cheekbone sawing into his face, the regular beat of her heart. How could he leave her behind? How?

  “I knew they’d send you somewhere right away,” she murmured, her breath hot in his ear. “They can’t keep you penned up here forever, looking after me.”

  “You may need a housekeeper,” he tried to joke, though clearly neither of them felt like laughing. Kingsley might mean well, but what did he really think Ara was going to do if she couldn’t work? Sit around drinking coffee at the scruffy little bodega she liked? Summer in the Hamptons like she used to do in the old days when she was a rich East Side girl?

  Retreat to her cave and sit there, in her own muck, sulking and fuming and losing all the heart and strength she needed to be a great Venator. No way was Edon going to let that happen. Something flashed into his mind: an image of a blue passport, and he pushed her away, still gripping her arms and gazing at her pale tear-stained face.

  “You got a passport, right?” he asked her. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of this before.

  “Of course.” Ara looked confused. “I hope you’re not going to tell me to go to Bermuda for a beach vacation.”

  “Nope.” He grinned. “I was thinking of somewhere further north. Sweden.”

  Ara still looked confused. She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Sweden?” she said, as though it was the craziest place in the world.

  “I have a … let’s call it a little clean-up assignment there. So I’ll be working. But you – you could have a little mental-health vacation. Why not?”

  “Kingsley would go nuts,” she told him, but her eyes were bright with excitement.

  “Kinsgley never said you had to stay in New York,” said Edon. “He never said we couldn’t live together. He never said you weren’t free to travel wherever you …”

  “Shut up and finish packing,” Ara said. “I’ve got to go home and shower and do some laundry. How much time do I have?”

  Edon felt like howling with delight.

  “You’ll just have to go dirty to Sweden, angel,” he said. “You better get those blades of yours into a bank vault for safekeeping. Can’t see you getting those past the TSA.”

  Ara sprinted out without even pausing to kiss him. Just the mention of Sweden was good for her mental health. Clearly, Dr Edon knew just the cure for her woes.

  Kingsley didn’t need to know a thing about this. True, keeping a secret like this from the Duke of Hell made Edon a little nervous. But right now Kingsley Martin was night-jobbing as Venator Chief in New York, rather than ruling hell as lord of the underworld. Once Edon was in Scandinavia, he was out of the Chief’s jurisdiction. And Ara – well, she was just on vacation.

  6 | All Change

  Whatever Mimi thought, this place was completely unsuitable for children. First, the neighborhood. In Schuyler’s opinion, there were too many clubs – and their demi-monde denizens – close by. It wouldn’t take long for Sy and Lily to discover the delights of dodging traffic on the West Side Highway. They’d grown up on an idyllic hillside surrounded by rows of vines and rose bushes: they weren’t used to police sirens, screeching taxis and horn battles at every intersection, or to leather-studded S&M club-goers striding by, like motorcycle gangs on their way to a fashion show.

  Second, the apartment was a penthouse, its only outside space a narrow terrace with a glass barrier. Sure, the view of the Hudson was spectacular, but it wasn’t somewhere the kids could play, and Schuyler had nightmare visions of them scaling the barricade and free-falling over the side.

  Last, and worst of all, everything in Mimi and Kinsgley’s place was white. Everything. The walls, the carpet, the furniture. Only people who’d never had children themselves would think a white leather couch was a good idea. They didn’t know the damage fluorescent marker pens, clutched by sticky chocolate fingers, could do on pristine surfaces. The glass-topped coffee table would be smudged, or possibly broken, the first week, and its sharp corners looked dangerous. Since she’d moved back to New York, Mimi had collected some beautiful pieces of art glass: these were arranged like luminous coral along a low stone ledge near the chic contemporary fireplace. One nudge from Lily, and Schuyler could just see Sy toppling into that perilous, expensive reef, shattering every piece. The whole apartment was a child-related accident waiting to happen.

  “I guess the underworld was too dark for her,” Schuyler murmured to Jack, who coughed to cover up his laugh. “This place is like heaven on steroids.”

  “What was that?” Mimi sashayed over, her mane of blonde hair thick, straight and immaculate as ever. Clearly, serving as Regent of the Coven wasn’t getting in the way of her expensive grooming routine.

  “We were just wondering,” said Schuyler, nudging Jack to remind him to support her and not side with his twin sister, “if the twins will wreak too much havoc on this place. It’s so beautiful and … um, white.”

  “We can have their rooms painted any color they want,” Mimi said, beaming at her. The penthouse had six bedrooms, even though Mimi and Kinsgley – when they weren’t fighting – only inhabited one. Old Upper East Side habits died hard, Schuyler thought. With Mimi Force, more would always be more.

  “We’re just worried they’ll break things and smear things,” Jack said. They could hear squeals from the other end of the penthouse, where Sy and Lily were investigating bedroom options and no doubt illicitly bouncing on beds. “You might have to put some kind of throw over your couch.”

  Mimi made a face.

  “I’ll just buy new furniture. It’s time for a change anyway,” she said, scooping up the spikiest piece of glass from the stone ledge. “I was thinking duck-egg blue. Or maybe Tiffany blue with gold accents. A Turkish rug or two, and one of those gorgeous low sectional couches – you know, those Italian ones from Ligne Roset.”

  Harem chic, Schuyler wanted to mutter to Jack
, but she held her tongue. Lily was shouting for Jack, no doubt to resolve some dispute over room occupation, and he wandered off to arbitrate. Something about being alone with Mimi made Schuyler feel anxious, as though she was being judged by her sister-in-law and found wanting.

  In the year since Mimi’s return from the underworld, she’d obviously embraced the city life of spiky heels, salon appointments and Hermes bags. Schuyler was still only a recent – and reluctant – refugee from their Napa Valley idyll. She’d loved her days spent running the twins to kindergarten, buying fresh produce at farm stands, pruning the rose bushes that studded the terraces of vines, and meeting with their architect, graphic artist, web developer, and glass supplier. She and Jack had built their own business and their own citadel, high on a perfect hill. From that peak, she now realized, the only way was down.

  Mimi was bustling around in the open-plan kitchen, moving a cut-glass fruit bowl to a high shelf, apparently oblivious to the set of Japanese knives lying on an easily reached stretch of marble countertop.

  “Child-proofing as we speak,” she said, with a fake enthusiasm Schuyler could see right through. There’d always been tension between them, and even now they were in their 30s, teenage passions and rivalries long behind them, something still bristled in the air. Schuyler knew that to Mimi she’d always be the Half Blood who lured the Jack Force away from his true bond mate and dragged him into some dull, granola-munching, Birkenstock-wearing farm life in dreary northern California. Mimi and Jack shared exciting, dangerous past lives from which Schuyler was completely excluded. All Schuyler knew with Jack was this life, and it was a life they both loved.

  A low chime sounded and Mimi peered into a small screen on the wall, then reached for a discreet silver buzzer.

  “The nanny,” she told Schuyler. “She’ll be taking the children to school every day and picking them up. She’s a Venator’s sister and fully trained to defend them from any danger – human or demon.”

  “So I heard,” said Schuyler. Really, did Mimi think that Jack told his own wife nothing?

  “Ben Denham’s younger sister – do you know him?” Mimi straightened the sleek folds of her form-fitting wrap dress. “Kingsley thinks he’s very promising. A little too keen, maybe, but that’s better than being a slacker, I suppose.”

  “I’ve never met a Venator who was a slacker,” Schuyler said, but Mimi didn’t reply. The elevator that opened into the living room dinged, and out stepped a young woman who looked anything but ready to defend Sy and Lily from all danger. She was slim to the point of fragility, her dark hair soft and wispy, and her brown eyes wide and staring from a pale face. One leap from Lily would bowl her over, thought Schuyler. Of all the vampire nannies in the world, this was the one Mimi and Kingsley found? Schuyler had been expecting someone tougher, sturdier and possibly not dressed in a floaty floral top and white capri pants.

  “Hi, I’m Catherine Denham,” the young woman said, smiling at Schuyler.

  “Schuyler Van Alen.” She held out her hand, and Catherine giggled.

  “Oh, I know who you are! It’s such an honor to meet you. When I was growing up, me and my friends all wanted to be Schuyler Van Alen.”

  “Really?” Schuyler wasn’t buying this. Sure, she’d proven herself as a fighter and leader during the war. But Blue Bloods tended to stick with their own.

  “Don’t be fooled by her sweet demeanor,” Mimi called from the kitchen, where she was peering into the stainless steel fridge. Probably discovering she only had French champagne rather than the Tropicana orange juice Schuyler had mentioned the twins liked. “Catherine knows how to fight with blades.”

  “Fists, swords, blades, guns.” Catherine smiled at Schuyler and gave a little shrug, maybe intended to be charming or reassuring. “Only if necessary, of course. A specialist in Nephilim. The Venators taught me everything I know.”

  “Great.” Schuyler tried to smile back. This was the woman to whom she had to entrust the safety of her children, every morning and every afternoon. The woman who had to be utterly vigilant and prepared, ready for demons leaping out of the shadows, ready for silver bullets flying through the air. Was it wrong to wish for, say, someone a little taller and sturdier?

  “Jack! Catherine Denham is here!” Mimi shouted in a theatrically loud voice. This penthouse was large, but you would have thought, Schuyler mused, Mimi was calling across the West Side Highway. “Remember? The nanny.”

  Lily and Sy came running out ahead of Jack, tumbling like puppies. Schuyler’s heart skipped a beat seeing their happy faces. They had no idea that this stay in New York was anything more than a fun adventure. She’d miss them so much – their dark heads, nestled together when they cuddled up to her; their eyes as blue and deep as the ocean; their silly stories and songs.

  Sy was the smaller of the two, still skinny and often out of breath since his dangerous encounter with pneumonia. He was so loving and trusting, a mini-Jack in looks but without Jack’s fiery edge. Lily had inherited every piece of that, with some to spare. She might look demure in her gray Agnes B dress – a gift from chic, extravagant Aunt Mimi – but she was feisty and adventurous, a born leader. A born ringleader, Schuyler thought, always up for trouble. As much as Schuyler hated to admit it, staying for a while with strong personalities like Mimi and Kingsley might be good for Lily. Neither of them would put up with nonsense. They were, after all, the Regent of the Coven and the Venator Chief. They had reputations to maintain, not to mention order in this world and the one beneath. If the King and Queen of Hell couldn’t keep Lily safe, who could?

  Jack came striding into the room, his green eyes almost feline, with the same high cheek bones as Mimi and the same fair hair, though his was cropped and tousled, the way Schuyler liked it. Her heart still skipped a beat whenever he walked in. She wanted to grow old with this man, the guy she’d fallen for as a teenager. Bondmate was a good word for their relationship, something much deeper than ‘husband and wife’ could ever mean.

  “The nanny’s here,” Schuyler told him, hoping he’d read her diffident expression and either overrule Mimi or reassure Schuyler that this Catherine Denham was a good choice.

  “Yes, the NANNY,” Mimi practically shouted, dropping one of her Japanese knives onto the counter with a terrific clatter.

  “Does everyone in Hell shout all the time?” Jack teased her. “You know you’re back in the city now, right?”

  He swung towards Catherine Denham, who was still standing near the door with that simpering look on her face. Schuyler really didn’t get this girl. Usually Venators – and anyone who’d endured their training – looked emotionless, ready for action, almost hard-faced. Maybe this was Catherine’s “nanny” face, designed to be child-friendly, but Schuyler couldn’t help see it as insipid and annoying.

  “Lily, Sy – this is Catherine,” she said, gathering the small whirling dervishes to her. They stared at their new nanny with wide eyes. “She’ll be helping to look after you here. Taking you to school, and looking after you whenever Aunt Mimi and Uncle Kingsley can’t be around.”

  “Sleeping in a room right next to you,” Mimi added. She’d stopped messing about in the kitchen and joined everyone else. As usual, Schuyler couldn’t help noting, she was standing right next to Jack. Old habits died hard, especially when the habits went back centuries … to the beginning of time.

  “Say hello,” Schuyler prompted the twins, and they both shook hands with Catherine, so solemn that it was funny. Catherine gave them that too-sweet smile, and leaned over, so she was at eye-level with the children.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you both. We’re going to have some fun, right?” The words were fine, but somehow they sounded forced, as though the nanny role didn’t come naturally to Catherine.

  Schuyler glanced at Jack to see how he was responding. She expected a frown, really – Catherine was not his kind of girl. But there was a faraway look in his eyes. Mimi was clutching his arm, and her eyes appeared glazed, like opaque green gl
ass. Those two were such a matching set, physically and psychically. They were probably having some silent intuitive conversation.

  When Catherine stood up, she looked straight at Jack and for the first time something like life flickered in her brown eyes. Nothing was said, but still – there it was. Schuyler might be going crazy, but she thought she saw something in Jack’s eyes as well, almost a of recognition. It was as though a secret message was passed, in a flash, between Jack and Catherine. Schuyler felt unsettled rather than jealous: Jack had always been the most loyal and content of husbands, not heading out – like Kingsley sometimes did – on benders to clubs and casinos.

  Maybe she was imagining this: it was easy to be paranoid these days, with Finn Chase spinning out of control around the world and demons seeping through fissures in the earth, trying to resurrect the darkness. Oliver on the run and in danger every single day. Silver Bloods rallying again, looking for a way back in.

  Suddenly Mimi was by her side, linking arms as though Schuyler was her sister or best buddy.

  “Don’t worry, Schuyler,” she murmured. “There’s no safer place in the country for the children. No safer place in the world.”

  Schuyler wanted to believe her, but something sizzled in her brain like an electric current, telling her that no place was safe – not now, not anymore.

  7 | Sleepless in Stockholm

  It was already light that morning when Edon and Ara flew into Stockholm, and it was going to be light, by all accounts, until late in the evening. The northern summer day was long, and they were approaching the longest day of the year. Midsummer, a time for festivities, drinking, dancing and going wild in the country.