“Welcome to New York,” Bliss said with a smile. “They say the subway’s faster, but…”
“Don’t tell me: you’ve never taken it. Lifestyles of the rich and famous,” he teased.
“Well, I’ve never been in a Hyundai, that’s for sure.”
They left the car in front of Oliver’s building and went inside. The doorman must have been on a smoke break, because the desk was vacant.
“Should we wait?” Lawson asked.
Bliss just grabbed his arm and went to the elevator, then pressed the button for the penthouse. She’d only been to Oliver’s place a couple of times, but it was hard to forget. Lavish even for New York, it took up the top three stories of the building. Oliver had his own floor, complete with the game room that had made going to his house so popular with Schuyler and Dylan.
Dylan.
Bliss didn’t want to think about him now.
The elevator opened into the apartment, so they didn’t have to worry about knocking. “Oliver?” Bliss called out. “Mr. Hazard-Perry? Mrs. H-P? Anybody home?”
Her voice echoed in the silence of the apartment.
“Looks like we struck out,” Lawson said.
“It’s a big place,” she replied. “Let’s make sure.”
Bliss walked through the enormous formal dining room, through the kitchen and up the stairs to Oliver’s floor. His bedroom door was open, and it was a mess in there. Not like Oliver. The bed was unmade and there were clothes everywhere.
“Ransacked,” Lawson said.
Bliss shook her head. “He was packing. Must have wanted to get out of here in a hurry.” If she was right, things were worse than she’d thought. Still, he’d left some books on the desk, journals and a few loose papers pressed inside that looked like e-mail printouts. Could be handy. She grabbed them all.
“What do we do now?” Lawson asked, looking uncomfortable.
“There’s another place he might go, or where people might be able to help us,” she said. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
EIGHT
Schuyler
ucas said you wanted to see me?” Tilly St. James was a striking girl, with a thick row of severe bangs across her forehead, her long red hair falling in a straight line down her back. She was wearing a black turtleneck and black leather trousers, and was holding pushpins between her teeth. “Sorry—we’re doing a fitting for the final show. Come on—why don’t you guys take a seat and watch the run-through, then we can talk.”
Schuyler and Oliver took seats in the dark auditorium. Central Saint Martins—a design school located in central London—ran one of the most prestigious undergraduate fashion design programs in the world. York Hall was a madhouse of students rushing around getting ready for the winter showcase, a hive of activity as young designers ran backstage with fabric rolls, muslin patterns, and tape measures looped around their necks.
Schuyler took a sip from her cappuccino and smiled to herself, remembering her brief encounter with the fashion industry. Three years had gone by since she was pulled out of the crowd at Duchesne and tapped to be a Farnsworth girl. She had been such a little mouse then. Unable to say “boo” to the intimidating and beautiful Mimi Force. Schuyler felt affection for the scared little girl she had once been. She had weathered the worst—her mother gone, along with Cordelia and Lawrence, and saying good-bye to Jack in Egypt was the most difficult burden to bear yet—but Schuyler felt stronger than she had in years. Jack’s love made me stronger, she thought. And letting go of our love has made me stronger still.
The theater was empty save for a few curious first- and second-years eager to see what the seniors had up their designer sleeves. Tomorrow night, the whole world would be watching to see the latest creations hatched from the experimental laboratory, with reporters from the trade and popular press eager to document the birth of a new design star.
The curtain parted and Tilly jumped down from the stage and ran up to Schuyler. “Sorry—we’re short a model—you’re about the right size and look.…Would you mind walking for us?”
Schuyler laughed, feeling flattered. But before she could answer, a glamazon—six feet tall, all cheekbones and thick dark hair; an exotic, wild creature—stomped down the aisle in three-inch clogs. “Tills! Sorry, the tube was blocked—some sort of accident at Euston Station—had to call a minicab.”
“Gooch! Thank God!” Tilly shrieked as they exchanged effusive air-kisses.
Oliver nudged Schuyler. “Close call,” he said with a grin.
“Ollie? What are you doing here?” the model asked, upon spotting Oliver. “Brilliant party the other night, by the way! I had a colossal hangover the next morning!”
Oliver tried to explain, but he too was given the frantic double air-kiss before the two gorgeous girls disappeared back behind the curtain.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised?” Schuyler asked with a wry smile. “You do seem to know half the girls in London.”
Oliver didn’t even blush. “Oh, that’s just Gucci Westfield-Smith. A friend of Kingsley’s.”
“Uh-huh. Right,” Schuyler said.
The lights went out and the show began; the overhead speakers blared a song that was all thumping bass line and sultry breathing. The model—Gucci Something-or-other—walked out wearing nothing but a feather headdress and a nude bodysuit. She walked with her hands on her hips and gave Oliver a seductive glower at the end of the runway before twisting away.
Tilly came out from behind the stage and took a seat next to Schuyler and Oliver. “Shhh,” the designer said, smiling with anticipation.
There were more variations on the Nude/Native theme. More elaborate headdresses, fringed Navajo ponchos, suede moccasins, and dresses made out of multicolored plumage and rows of beads.
“So, what did you think?” Tilly asked, when the lights came on and the models had returned backstage.
Oliver clapped and stood. “Fantastic. Brilliant.”
“I loved it too,” Schuyler agreed. “You know what might be great? Have your makeup artist draw masks on the girls,” she suggested, recalling the after-party of the Four Hundred Ball, when Mimi had taken “masquerade” to a new level.
Tilly nodded thoughtfully. “That might work. I like it. Let me just tell the girls a few things, then I’ll take you for coffee across the street and we can talk.”
NINE
Mimi
here did he go? How could he disappear like that? He knew it was her, didn’t he? Knew it was Mimi underneath the brown bob and the brown eyes that were part of her disguise? Underneath the illusion, underneath the glamour—he knew her intimately, he knew her soul, he had to have seen her—truly seen her, hadn’t he? She would recognize him anywhere. In any guise, under any mask. Why couldn’t he?
She followed Danel through the tunnels to the other end of the station, relieved that he seemed to have taken the kiss in stride. It probably wasn’t the first time a girl had thrown herself on him for an impromptu make-out session. Maybe he was used to it. They took the escalator up to the next level. And that’s when Mimi saw Kingsley on the escalator going down the other way. He was laughing and chatting with the same girls.
Mimi realized her jealousy was irrelevant. This was her chance to let Kingsley and the vampires know what Lucifer was up to. Maybe then he could help somehow.
When she stepped off the escalator, she turned to Danel. “I don’t feel well—I need to go back down to the ladies’.”
“Okay, I’ll wait for you here.”
She nodded and hurried down. She pushed her way through the crowd until she was standing right behind him on the platform.
Kingsley Martin.
She wavered. She could smell him—that blend of cigarettes and coffee and whiskey that she knew so well. She could reach over and touch his hair, his neck, slip her hand into his, and they could get away from all this. What did it matter? Let the Dark Prince take Paradise. She and Kingsley could make a heaven here on earth.
Who cared
about the coming war? Who cared about the Covens and the survival of the vampires? Was she even a vampire anymore? She had expected the thirst to come back, once she was free of the underworld, but there was nothing. She hadn’t had a bite in weeks.
They could forget all this. She could whisper in his ear and tell him to escape with her.
But he would hate her. He would hate her for giving up, for giving in, for being selfish. She was no longer that girl. She had grown up so much. She couldn’t do it. Not to him, not to Oliver, and more important, not to herself.
Plus, what hope did any of the vampires have if she and Jack couldn’t break the demons from the inside? The Coven was in ruins; Michael and Gabrielle had abandoned their people.
Even if she and Kingsley wanted to run away together, she knew that when it came down to it, they wouldn’t do it. Kingsley was a Venator and Mimi was a realist. Duty was more important than love. She understood that in her bones.
Mimi bumped into Kingsley’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No worries,” he said, smiling at her from behind his dark bangs. She was wrong. Kingsley didn’t see her. He didn’t know it was her. He gave her the flirtatious grin he gave every pretty girl on the tube.
But the smile turned into a frown. “Hey—”
“Yes?” she asked, holding her breath.
“You dropped this,” he said, holding up a postcard with a picture of a chapel.
“No—that’s not mine,” she said. “Sorry.”
“Oh.” He stared at her and blinked, staring hard at her now. “Do I know you from somewhere…?”
She smiled nervously, shook her head, and bolted back up the escalator. If Danel knew what she was up to…If Lucifer found out…She pushed through the people and jostling elbows. Danel was waiting for her at the top, talking on his phone.
“Sorry, I feel much better now,” she said.
“Yeah, jet lag.” He nodded. “You told me.” He closed his phone. “So that was your boy.”
Kingsley? she almost said. Then realized he meant Jack.
“He’s run into a bit of trouble with those monks in Spain. I’m going to have to help him sort it out.” He sighed. “He doesn’t want to make too much of a mess. It would alert the Blue Bloods as to what we’re doing. Keep it quiet, you know.”
“Oh, okay.”
“You think you can handle Rosslyn on your own?”
“Yeah…I mean…Yeah.” She nodded.
“All right, gorgeous. But we’ve got unfinished business, you and me,” Danel said, chucking her chin. Then he was gone.
You’re welcome, her twin sent.
Mimi boarded the train to Edinburgh. She only hoped Kingsley would understand the meaning of the postcard.
She wanted nothing more than to fail at this quest.
TEN
Bliss
liss remembered the days when the Repository had been housed underneath a pair of nightclubs. The Bank had been one of the hottest spots in Manhattan, but now it attracted more of a bridge-and-tunnel crowd. Block 122, next door, was exclusively for Blue Bloods and their guests. Together, they’d provided perfect cover for the building that housed the documents detailing the history of the Blue Bloods. All of their knowledge, all of their secrets.
But the Repository had been relocated, and now it was housed below Force Tower, in a corescraper miles underground.
“A corescraper?” Lawson asked.
“You know, the opposite of a skyscraper,” Bliss said. “The human Conduits watch over it. Maybe some of them will know where everybody is. They might also have some information about how we can get back to the underworld—you never know.”
Lawson’s face brightened, and Bliss felt a little guilty for bringing it up. It wasn’t all that likely that the Conduits would be able to help, at least not with the wolves. Vampire knowledge of wolf lore was relatively limited. Oh, well. They’d find out soon enough.
Bliss led Lawson through the front door of Force Tower, to an elevator at the very back of the elevator bank. It was the only one containing a panel that would allow them to travel down instead of up.
“It smells weird in here,” Lawson said.
He was right—it smelled musty and unused. The buttons on the panel were dusty. Bliss worried about what they would find when the doors opened.
She had been right to worry, because when they did open, she could see that the Repository had been all but destroyed.
What once had been a beautiful and welcoming library, with luscious leather chairs and rows of old-fashioned carrels, was now essentially a pile of rubble. Ransacked and left to burn. There were still some small fires burning in parts of the room, and everything smelled like smoke. There weren’t as many books piled up as Bliss would have imagined, so maybe some of them had been saved.
“I take it this isn’t what it usually looks like,” Lawson said.
“Not even a little bit. I don’t know what happened,” she said, struck by a feeling of a deep sadness and nostalgia. They wandered through the library, looking in at the more formal offices of Committee Headquarters, the private reading areas, the rare book rooms. All trashed.
“Whoever they were, they were pretty thorough,” said Lawson. Then he stopped and sniffed at the air. “Someone’s here.”
Bliss whirled around. “Where?” she asked, ready to fight or flee.
“It’s human, don’t worry,” he said.
“Hello?” Bliss shouted. “Anyone here?”
From the recesses of a dark corner of the stacks, a figure emerged. He looked stooped and broken; his overly formal clothing was tattered and smeared with ash.
“Are those velvet pants?” Lawson whispered. “Who is this guy?”
“He’s a Conduit,” Bliss whispered back. “Sir?” she said out loud. “I believe we’ve met before, a long time ago. I’m Bliss Llewellyn.”
“I know who you are, Miss Llewellyn,” the man said, in a voice that Bliss recalled as being haughty but which now sounded frightened. “Renfield,” he said.
“What happened here, Renfield?” she asked. “Where is everybody?”
Renfield shook his head. “We Conduits tried to store away as much as we could before going underground with the Coven, and I went back to grab a few more books and saw this.”
“What do you mean underground? Where is everybody?”
“Gone. Everyone’s gone. There are no vampires left. It’s all chaos. The Regent is missing, the conclave has been disbanded.”
“That can’t be true,” Bliss said, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve only been gone a year. Things can’t have changed that much. It can’t all be over.”
“I’m sure it’s not over,” Lawson said, and took her hand. “We’ll figure it out.”
“There may still be some hope,” Renfield said. “A Venator bulletin went out.”
“Show us,” Bliss urged.
“It came over the wire the other week,” he said. “I was disseminating the information to the remaining members of the Coven when I heard you out here. Come to my office.”
Bliss and Lawson followed Renfield through the stacks, to a room tucked away in a back corner, where Bliss had never been. The door was beautiful and intricately carved, as were all the doors in the Repository; the fact that the solid wood remained undamaged made Bliss start to feel safe.
Until Renfield opened the door and a demon ripped out his throat.
ELEVEN
Schuyler
few minutes later, Schuyler, Oliver, and Tilly were settled into a cozy corner of a small tea shop, which was decorated with traditional, comfortable, grandmother-like touches—chintz couches and damask floral pillows. “So, did Lucas tell you why we wanted to see you?” Schuyler asked, sinking into a plush and decidedly lumpy armchair that Cordelia would never have allowed in her elegant Manhattan town house.
Tilly smiled. “Yes he did. Although, for a moment there, I thought you guys were from Chic. They’re supposed to inte
rview me.”
Schuyler ignored the comment. “We wanted to talk about what you might know about the Gate of Promise.”
The designer sighed. “Oh yes, yes. The Order of the Seven and all those grave responsibilities…”
“Forgive me if this sounds rude, but responsibilities like guarding the Gates of Hell? I would say that is pretty serious,” said Schuyler, a bit taken aback by Tilly’s irreverence.
Tilly shrugged. “It did seem terribly urgent back then. But you have to understand—you’re a new soul, right? Lucas told me about you. The half-blood. Gabrielle’s daughter. You don’t have the blood memories. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Tell us, make us understand,” Oliver urged.
Tilly fiddled with the rings on her fingers. “In the beginning, the danger was great. Lucifer had been discovered, and the paths had to be guarded or the demons would be unleashed into our world. Lucas and I were assigned to Gabrielle’s protection, as was everyone from our old legion. Your mother did what she had to do in London, then we left Lucas behind.” She motioned for a second cup of tea. “That’s all I remember from that time. Of course, the Crisis in Rome was just the beginning of the trouble. I was with your mother in Florence when…” Her voice faltered and she shivered.
“When?” Schuyler prompted.
Tilly closed her eyes. “When Gabrielle discovered that Lucifer had tricked her. That the Gates of Hell she had built during the founding of Rome were no match for his power.”
Schuyler and Oliver exchanged an uneasy glace. “What happened in Florence?”
“Lucifer was vanquished, of course. Michael saw to that, as he always did.”
Schuyler looked at her keenly. “You don’t seem so sure.”
Tilly stirred her tea. “I don’t know. I tried to forget about it, it was all so horrible. Anyway, the years went by…centuries upon centuries, and nothing happened.…”
“Not nothing…There have been deaths. Young ones taken,” Schuyler said. “Even here, in the London Coven.”
Gates of Paradise Page 5