White Nights: A Vampires of Manhattan Novel

by Melissa de la Cruz

  Oliver stumbled on uneven ground and backed away from the crowd a little. People were pressing forward, drawn to the music like moths to the pulsating colored lights. Was he losing faith? Did he realize how hopeless this was, this doomed quest of his? In a throng so large, he was just another guy. Even if Finn Chase were here, he might never spot her, and she might never spot him.

  Or she might just have him dispatched, Edon thought, without bothering to say one last goodbye.

  Oliver was still backing away. The strange look on his face was visible even in the gloom of the forest, even this far away from the stage and its light show. Some Midsummer partiers had positioned small candles in jars, a looping trail of white light that lit up the golden pine needles and the grizzled bark of the trees. Mina paced to the side, so they were like pincers, ready to grab Oliver if they needed to. Edon was trying to work out what that look on his face meant, something between despair and serenity.

  And then it came to him, just as one of the tiny candles shimmied in the breeze. Oliver knew his quest was doomed. He had no fight left in him. He was ready to die.

  The last thing they needed was another dead body right now: it would cause a stampede, and god knows what would happen then, in the chaos and the dark. They had to take Oliver and secure him. Get him back to Axel, or to one of the Venator teams.

  Edon glanced at Mina: her yellow eyes were like the candles, small and bright. She nodded at him, knowing instinctively what he was suggesting they do. Oliver, still trying to back away, collided with a tree and just stood there, slumped against its gray ridges. He didn’t have the energy to take another step. That’s the way it looked. He’d found his stake, and was waiting to be burned alive.

  A whirring sound cut through the air, low and fluttering like a butterfly on fast-forward. Edon heard it before he saw it, but he knew exactly what it was: a crescent blade in flight. He leapt, swinging his axe up as though it were a shield, blocking the blade before it soared into Oliver’s belly. It hit the axe with an almighty clang, the impact so great Edon was knocked to the ground, the axe flying and taking him with it. He felt every bone in his body crunch as he tumbled, just missing a stony patch that would have broken him into pieces.

  He blinked, trying to get some sense back into his head. Mina was crouched over him, her face both alarmed and admiring, and she hauled him up without saying a word. Oliver was gone, but someone was running away – a Venator, on the chase?

  Kind of. Edon would know that slim form and platinum crop anywhere.

  It was Ara.

  27 | Revenge

  Jack was back in the forest – this endless forest that seemed to grow with every hour and footstep. Would this day ever end? The noise of the big party taunted him, throbbing and raging, just the way he felt inside.

  He had no sense of the time anymore. It was late, very late, but the flashing lights of the rave lit up the forest like fireworks. The sun would begin to rise around three AM, he’d been told, when it felt as though it had barely set. Somewhere, in the midst of this leaping and whooping crowd of oblivious party-goers, there were Venators and wolves, Nephalim and Silver Bloods, maybe even Lucifer himself.

  And Lily, just seven-years-old, far from home and in mortal danger.

  Even before Axel told them about the private plane taking off in New York and landing in Stockholm, Jack knew that Catherine would be bringing Lily here. Why – now that was something else altogether. He marched through the crowd as best he could, shouldering whirling dancers out of the way, the ground pulsating beneath his feet. Why had Catherine done this? They’d met and talked; he’d given her his word that he would help her get revenge on whoever murdered Louis, her husband – his son – all those centuries ago. Was she just trying to get leverage, to refuse to hand Lily back until he acted on his word? It was a stupid high-stakes game to play, one that endangered her own life, even if she didn’t care about Lily’s.

  Catherine had to be so blind, so desperate for revenge, that she’d risk charging into a mission as important as this one and ruining it. This seemed incredible to him, nonsensical. In a past cycle she’d been his and Mimi’s much loved daughter-in-law. She’d never experienced anything from them but kindness and understanding. Why would she turn on him now, when he’d promised to help her?

  And what Jack really wanted to know was where Catherine had found the money for a private plane to fly to Europe. Someone had to be helping her. Someone in New York – or someone here.

  The music had stopped and the DJ was shouting something, impossible to decipher given the wild cheers of the crowd. Jack kept pushing his way along, the giant garish maypole his destination. Schuyler had insisted they separate and meet there: they’d cover more ground that way, she said. He hated being apart from her now, of being alone without any of his little family with him. Sy was back in New York – safe, so Mimi insisted. Schuyler was somewhere in this forest, lost in the mob. Lily could be anywhere. He would thrust a sword through anyone who got in his way, once he found her.

  If he found her.

  “Mr. Force – why are you in such a hurry?” Lukas stood before him, face bright with sweat, his silver hair glinting like an animal pelt in moonlight. He placed a warm hand on Jack’s shoulder and gripped it in a way that felt as though he’d never let go. “The party isn’t over, you know. I am about to make the traditional speech over by the maypole. Won’t you join me?”

  “Yes, of course,” Jack said through gritted teeth. They’d kept the news of Lily’s abduction from Lukas and Pernilla, first because Schuyler insisted and then because Axel thought it wise. Like them, he didn’t trust the Regis.

  “This is my annual duty, you know,” Lukas continued, his hand still grasping Jack’s shoulder. His fingers dug into Jack’s skin. “I greet the people here for Midsummer and give official permission, as the landowner, for the use of my land.”

  “A little late for that, don’t you think?” Jack asked. Lukas stepped closer, his smile fixed.

  “It’s just the way we do things here, one of our Scandinavian traditions. It’s hard for an outsider to understand.”

  “And do you welcome the White Queen every year?” Jack demanded. “Is she one of your Scandinavian traditions?”

  Lukas looked bemused – an act, Jack was certain.

  “Every year we have a Queen. Last year it was the Summer Queen, the year before it was the Queen of the Lake. Don’t read too much into a name. It’s just our small way of offering something special and new to our many guests from the city. Otherwise, why would so many people come?”

  He gestured at the sprawling crowd around them, and Jack was relieved: his shoulder was free again. Lukas nodded towards the maypole in the distance.

  “Shall we? I would be honored to have you with me when I address our guests. Of course, most of them will have no idea who you are. But those in the know …”

  “I’m really not here to stand around watching ceremonies.” Jack felt his temper beginning to spiral out of control. “As you well know.”

  “Of course.” Lukas’ tone was cordial, but his smile was gone. He was herding Jack towards the maypole. “But I beg you, please don’t turn our traditional Midsummer celebration into some kind of violent scene. We have a position here to maintain. You’re not in the US now, are you? This is Sweden. A place of green trees, blue lakes and white nights.”

  Sweden, thought Jack, where a new gate of hell had cracked open, admitting scores of demons into the world. And all the Regis of the Coven cared about was political jockeying for position among the Blue Bloods, and getting bad publicity at his big party. Pathetic.

  Despite his aversion to Lukas, Jack kept walking with him. He needed to get to the maypole anyway, because that’s where he’d see Schuyler again. They’d share information – not that he had anything to tell her, except how noxious Lukas was, and how sorry he was not to have told her earlier that he knew Catherine Denham.

  He hadn’t told Schuyler because he thought Catherine
’s revenge obsession would worry her. Well, she would have been to have fears and reservations. He should have told her. He should have said something the moment he saw Catherine in Mimi’s apartment, the moment he recognized her.

  He’d betrayed Schuyler’s trust and she might never forgive him. The woman he’d pledged to love forever, not just in this life but until the end of time.

  As though she knew he was thinking about her, Schuyler materialized close to the maypole. She hadn’t seen him, he realized; she looked dreamy and pensive, unaware of the surging crowds and their chatter and racket. Like Jack and Lukas, she was obviously walking toward the maypole, but she was alone.

  “Schuyler!” Jack called. She didn’t seem to hear.

  “Ah, your wife! Very good.” Lukas sounded relieved. “You will both be there for my little speech. And for the ceremony, with the White Queen. Not a real Queen, you understand! You know, maybe if we’d known you were coming, we could have arranged for Mrs. Force to take the role of the Queen.”

  Schuyler didn’t need to play a royal role, Jack wanted to say, but he kept walking, his eyes fixed on his beautiful wife. She still looked both delicate and strong, her dark hair the color of volcanic sand. Lukas had no idea if he thought Schuyler would opt to be carried around a maypole in some seasonal game. She was a great fighter, stronger and faster than a wolf, quick-witted and sensitive to nuances of behavior in a way he’d never be. When she met Catherine, she knew at once that there was something suspect about her. How could he have lied to her – or, at least, withheld information?

  “Schuyler!” he called again, but she was walking more quickly now, pushing her way past other people, eager to reach the maypole.

  There, Jack thought, they’d find out if the White Queen was Finn – and if her coronation would launch a new war.

  28 | Among the Trees

  The trees were passing in a blur, and Ara knew all she had to do was to keep running, leaping over tussocks and rocks, darting past any obstacle in her way. She’d broken every promise to Jack Force by leaving her inn when she spotted Oliver Hazard-Perry on a boat. But she couldn’t break her most sacred promise, her duty, and that was to be a Venator. Members of the Coven’s secret service didn’t loll around in rented rooms sighing over the view and chewing over their mistakes.

  They spied on criminals and then chased their asses down.

  She was out of the habit of running, Ara realized. Her heart was thundering and her lungs felt as though someone had bunged them full of bales of cotton. All she could hear was the drum of her heart and the crunch of twigs and needles underfoot. But there was exhilaration in the chase, as always, and spurts of adrenalin kicking in were like bursts of power in a sports car. The trees were giant barriers for her to swerve around; this forest was a race track, and Ara was determined to win.

  The noise of the party crowd was a distant roar. In the distance she glimpsed her prey, running full-tilt up a small incline, glancing back for the briefest of moments to assess how much ground Ara was gaining. He was a fast runner – Ara would give him that. But he would never outpace her. With every bend she was getting closer, trying to conserve some energy so she’d be able to tackle him when she drew close enough. She couldn’t wait to leap on him and rub his face into the ground and wrench his hands up behind his back.

  She couldn’t wait to pull him over and see who had dared to throw a crescent blade straight at Oliver Hazard-Perry, the only one in this forest, she was sure, who could draw Finn Chase into the open.

  At first, when she saw the blade whizz through the air, before Edon clunked it away with that ugly axe he liked to carry, Ara’s gut had told her the would-be assassin was a Venator. Who else had that weapon – and the skill to use it? But the guy who took off like the wind when his shot was deflected couldn’t be a Venator. That wasn’t the way real Venators fought. If a Venator was told to take on an enemy, then they stood their ground, even if they were disarmed. You fought: you didn’t run away. Too much was at stake. Running away from the scene could mean he was a rogue Venator, not acting on official orders and not wanting to be caught in the act.

  Or else – he wasn’t a Venator at all.

  Ara was close now. Even in this soft darkness, the moon sparkling through breaks in the trees and picking out golden pools of pine needles, it was hard to make out much about the man she was chasing. He was tiring; that much she could tell. She wasn’t. All this enforced sitting-around might have compromised her fitness, but not her fight. This was the work she was born to do. This guy was a coward who ran away. And she was going to take him down.

  He stumbled on something – tangled weeds, a fallen branch – and Ara seized her moment. She launched herself into the air, landing on him so hard she knocked him flat to the ground. But he wasn’t giving up that easily. He bucked and struggled, trying to push Ara off him. There wasn’t much to this guy, but he was wriggling free of her grasp, and she was scrabbling at stones and leaves and soil, losing contact with him altogether. She had no weapons – nothing but her hands and her willpower. Upwards she reached, wild and furious at the fight he was putting up, and grabbed a handful of his T-shirt. She dragged him to the ground with such force that the fabric started ripping. Something bounced away from him – something gold and glinting in the moonlight – and he stuck out a pale hand to retrieve whatever it was, his body slackening just long enough for Ara to pounce. That was it: she had him pinned.

  Her right hand was bleeding and scraped, but it was still strong enough to pull his head back and get a good look at his face. That’s when she realized that the glinting object that had fallen just of his reach was a pair of glasses, and that she knew this face – not well, but she knew it.

  Christian. The Venator Chief’s human conduit.

  “Let me go,” he said, angry and squirming, and Ara tugged on his hair so hard he squealed with pain. Really – not a Venator. Just pathetic.

  “First you tell me why you tried to kill someone back there,” she said, digging her knees into his back.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “You better talk, dumb ass, before the wolves get here and rip you from ear to ear. They’re right behind me, and this time they’ll be using their axes on you.”

  Ara didn’t know if Edon and Mina were following, or if they were preoccupied with Oliver Hazard-Perry. Whatever. She could take this dweeb by herself.

  “Get off!” Christian started bucking again, trying to rid himself of Ara, so she dug her boots hard into his calves: he cried out with pain, and she tightened her grip on his arms.

  “Tell me what the hell you think you’re doing and who told you to do it.”

  “Nobody!”

  “I said, tell me who’s pulling your strings? No way a nobody like you is acting alone.” Ara dug her knees in again. Was Axel behind this? Another double-crossing Venator chief – really? Or was Christian secretly working for the Regis, spying on the Venators and relaying information back to the Coven’s leadership?

  Christian lay there, twisting to no effect, refusing to say anything.

  “Speak!” Ara yelled, frustrated beyond belief. This guy wasn’t a Venator. Who the hell did he think he was, using Venator blades, trying to implicate someone else? She used her legs to kick him over, so he was facing her. Christian spluttered and squirmed. What a total nobody this guy was, lying there blinking at her – he probably couldn’t see straight without his glasses. He was no match for her strength – though it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if Edon turned up sometime soon.

  “You’re just a mortal!” she shouted into his twisting face. “You’re just a conduit! You’re not a Venator! That’s why you couldn’t kill someone with the blades. You don’t have the skill. So tell me – who put you up to this?”

  Christian’s face was red with rage.

  “You Venators,” he spluttered. “You think that you’re god’s gift, don’t you? You’re so conceited and arrogant. You couldn’t possibly imag
ine someone mortal being a better fighter than you, or a better strategist. Well, you’re wrong.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Ara snapped. “If you were so great, you wouldn’t have been caught as soon as you tried to kill someone. Don’t think you’re fit to clean the boots of a Venator!”

  “Ha!” Christian’s laugh was bitter. “Really, you think that’s the first time I’ve tried to kill someone? I may not be a Venator, but I’m a better fighter than most of you. A better killer.”

  “That’s not what I just saw, buddy.” Ara couldn’t stand this guy.

  “You don’t know anything,” Christian spat at her. “Who do you think killed the kid in the club who was telling too much to your stupid wolf friends?”

  “You did that. Really.” Ara didn’t believe him.

  “Who do you think was the only person in the Coven who knew where Oliver Perry-Hazard was in Stockholm? And when he thought he’d got away, who do you think tracked him down and killed his little girlfriend?”

  “Finn Chase? You’re saying you killed Finn Chase?”

  “No! The girl in the apartment, the one he was staying with. The Swedish girl. Just like I killed the Venator at the airfield today.”

  ““I have no idea what you’re talking about. Shut up!” Ara was getting tired of Christian’s boasts. Either he was delusional or he was covering up for someone. Someone like Axel, say. “Your boss has told you to say all this, hasn’t he?”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Christian wasn’t even struggling now, but Ara knew she had to remain vigilant. “Finn Chase isn’t the only mortal to rebel against her lowly status. Why should we conduits be expected to act as indentured servants for the Coven? Aren’t we children of god as well? Your precious Oliver Hazard-Perry – he was a human conduit himself, wasn’t he? And not only did he become immortal, he became Regis of your Coven. So why shouldn’t I transform my own fortunes? Why should I be content with my lot?”