There was a time when Mimi could have gone to just about any fabulous restaurant or club in London and found a vampire to point her in the right direction. She hadn’t noticed it the last time she was in town, but she did now. It was eerie. London had been drained of vampires—pun definitely intended. There was no one left. Not in the usual hot spots, not in the boys’ clubs, not anywhere. She felt a piercing sadness at the reality of the current situation.
She called the old families in New York, spoke to a few remaining brave souls, but no one knew where the Venators were hiding in London. “We’re all just lying low until we hear from someone in charge,” they told her.
She wanted to scream that she was in charge, but it wouldn’t help matters. Finally, she went with the most mundane approach she could imagine: she called Oliver’s parents. The Conduits had scattered too—but Oliver’s family was so predictable. They were like ostriches hiding their heads in the sand while everything else was on display. They were “hiding” in Southampton. Water Mill, to be exact.
“Please, you need to tell me where he is,” she said. “It’s important.”
“We haven’t heard from him in a while,” Mrs. Hazard-Perry said. “He was in London, but then something happened in the Repository—he could be back in the States. We’re worried about him. If you do find him, will you tell him to get in touch?”
“Where was he in London? I’ll make sure he calls you when I find him.”
“We really aren’t supposed to tell anyone,” she said. “We’re under strictest orders.”
“From who?” Mimi said. Who was calling the shots in the Coven?
“Venator Martin, of course.”
Of course. Kingsley was leading them.
“It’s really important; you know I wouldn’t be calling otherwise.”
Mrs. Hazard-Perry sighed.
Mimi could tell she was almost there. “He’s in great danger. I can only help if I know where the safe house is. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure he’s okay.”
Apparently that was enough; Mrs. Hazard-Perry gave her the address.
Mimi barely remembered to say thank you before getting off the phone and into a minicab. She gave the driver the address and tried to mentally prepare for what she was supposed to do. There had to be a way out of this, even if she had a virtual ball and chain to the Dark Prince around her neck. She had to find a way to clue Kingsley in, stage some sort of fight where he could fake his death and she could help him escape.
Traffic was heavy as the minicab approached the address Oliver’s mother had given her. That was weird—it wasn’t a particularly populated neighborhood, and it was far away from any of the busy parts of London. Then she saw the police cars, and the tape that cordoned off the street. Blue and white for London, unlike the blue and yellow of New York.
“What’s going on?” she asked the cab driver.
“Dunno, miss. I’ll get as close as I can, but you might have to walk the rest of the way.”
He drove down the street, right up to the tape. “I’m afraid this is the address you were looking for,” he said. He parked in front of the safe house. Or what used to be the safe house.
It had burned to the ground.
Mimi jumped out of the cab and moved through the crowd congregated on the sidewalk. There was a woman off to the side, crying softly. Mimi approached her carefully. “Are you all right?”
The woman sniffed and blew her nose into a handkerchief. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just out of a job.” She looked at the smoking wreckage of the house and then started crying again.
“Did you work here?” Mimi asked.
The woman nodded. “I was a maid. It was a good job, it was. Lots to clean with all of those parties, but it was honest work.”
Sounded like Kingsley, all right.
“I knew the people who were staying here,” Mimi said. “They weren’t in there, were they, when this happened?”
The woman shook her head. “The young lady and her friend left days ago. Everyone else left last night. Like they knew something bad was going to happen.”
“Did they know?”
“Not so’s they told the staff. Though I heard they gave everyone the night off, so perhaps there was something afoot. Didn’t tell those of us on the schedule for today, though. We all showed up this morning to find this.”
“And you’re sure all of them left,” Mimi said. “Do you have any idea where they went?”
“None at all,” the maid said. “But if you find them, tell them they owe us a week’s pay.”
Mimi wanted to hug her. They were alive! Her friends were alive! Thank God. Kingsley was alive. She gave the woman a few bills from her purse. “Here. They’d want you to have this.”
Who had done this? Had Lucifer sent another convoy without Jack’s and Mimi’s knowledge? She walked around the perimeter, slipping through the Red Blood barriers easily. In the back of the house, behind the rubble, she found the answer.
Jack was holding the torch.
“You did this?” she asked, shocked.
“It was too late. They were gone.”
Thank God. Thank God. You knew they were gone, didn’t you? Thank God.
But Jack did not reply.
“Jack? Are you okay?”
“What is the point of this?” he said, kicking a rock on the ground.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are we doing here?”
“Jack, again, I don’t know what you’re saying,” she said.
“All this that we’ve done—for centuries, Mimi. We fought on the wrong side during the War, and even when we turned to the Light we were punished for it. Centuries we lived on earth, cycling through our lives. Rome. France. Plymouth. Hoping for salvation. Seeking redemption for our sins. For what? For this?”
“What are you saying?” Mimi asked, horrified. She had never heard him speak like this, or look so murderous and frustrated at the same time. She put a hand on the stone around her neck to warn him, but he didn’t notice.
“Maybe we’re trying too hard. Maybe we should just…”
“Give up?”
“Exactly. Why fight it? Why are we here? So that we can leave each other? Why?” He pulled her to him. “Why did I ever want to do that?” he whispered, putting his nose in her hair and breathing in her scent.
She found she was responding to him, to his touch, that familiar way he held her—had always held her. It had been so long since he’d held her that way. But why now? Why did he have to say these things now? Then she realized, even if he meant it, she didn’t want to hear it. Even if he wanted her back, she didn’t want him back.
She pushed him away from her. “You don’t mean it—you don’t mean what you’re saying.” She could feel the tears in her eyes. She loved him, she realized now, because he was always fighting the dark that was in him, that was part of him. He wanted so hard to be good, even though he was made for this. He was made for evil. He was the reason Lucifer had almost triumphed. If Jack had not turned at the last moment, Heaven would have been theirs so long ago.
“I am tired of pretending I am what I am not. That I do not want what I want.”
“Jack, stop it, you’re scaring me.”
“My name isn’t Jack Force. My name is ABBADON. I am made of dark and shadow. I am made of the underworld.” Then the darkness left him as quickly as it had come. Jack smiled at her, his brilliant, handsome, heartbreaking smile. “Why wait for salvation, Azrael, when we can take it for ourselves?”
TWENTY-NINE
Bliss
he next morning, Bliss woke up early and put her things in her hostel locker. She found Edon and Ahramin whispering fiercely. Edon looked tired and annoyed; his eyes were red-rimmed, and Ahramin had her usual smirk.
“Everything all right?” Bliss asked.
Ahramin gazed at her coolly and didn’t answer.
The rest of the boys woke up, and the group headed outside to figure out where
to begin the search. “I did a little digging and discovered a few of the projects that were under construction when Caligula was emperor,” Malcolm said, holding up his mobile phone. “There’s a few bridges and aqueducts, but the most important one is the Circus Maximus—the racetrack he built in the middle of the city, with the Egyptian obelisk in the middle.”
“Should we start there?” Lawson asked.
Bliss shrugged. “Sounds like as good a place as any. Where is it?”
“Of course the racetrack doesn’t exist anymore. They built St. Peter’s on top of it.”
“Of course.” Ahramin smirked, but everyone ignored her.
“The most famous tomb in the world,” Malcolm noted.
“So the path to Hell lies right under Vatican City?” Ahramin asked. “Does that sound right to you guys?”
“Stranger things have happened in the history of the vampires,” said Bliss. “Besides, when Caligula ordered its construction, it was an arena—a sports stadium, not the Holy See.”
St. Peter’s Square was stunning. The weather was unseasonably warm, and the sun brightened the pillars surrounding the square and made them almost glow.
“Did you know St. Peter was the first Pope? That’s why he’s buried here,” Malcolm told them.
“Thanks for the history lesson,” Ahramin said. “If we’d wanted to play tourist, we could have hired a guide. Let’s just get on with it.”
Why did she have to be so awful all the time? “I’m interested in learning about it,” Bliss said, more to torture Ahri than out of real interest.
Malcolm gave her a grateful look. “Michelangelo designed part of the dome. But I’m more excited about seeing the Sistine Chapel; not that I’ll be able to.” He sighed.
Oh, right. Denizens of the underworld were not allowed in places touched by the Divine, and St. Peter’s Basilica was hallowed ground, one of the most sacred places in all of Christendom.
“What I don’t understand is how you can go in, considering who your father is,” Ahramin said to Bliss.
“It doesn’t matter. Bliss and I will go in and check it out. You guys try to keep your eyes open out here. See if you can see anything in the glom that could be a portal,” Lawson instructed. “Come on,” he said to Bliss, and they followed the line of tourists entering the basilica.
They walked around the magnificent cathedral, marveling at the grandeur of the soaring ceilings and the breathtaking, dazzling interior. They were pilgrims before the altar of God, dwarfed by His glory.
“Anything?” Lawson asked.
Bliss shook her head.
“All right, next room,” Lawson said.
They spent the rest of the day wandering through the various highlights in the Holy See. Bliss wished they could be there under other circumstances; the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel was marvelous, but she couldn’t really appreciate it—she was too focused on trying to figure out where a path underground might lead; if there were telltale signs in the glom that could give away the presence of the ancient portal.
But all they saw was beautiful art, throngs of tourists, and gorgeous murals. There was nothing to indicate that the place was anything other than a holy and sacred space.
They found the boys and Ahramin waiting for them outside, with no news either. It was the end of the day and the pack was exhausted. After stopping for pizza al taglio, they went back to the hostel.
Ahramin changed for bed in what was becoming her usual striptease, but both Lawson and Edon seemed to be making a special effort not to pay attention, which clearly annoyed her. Bliss was determined not to give Lawson another chance to laugh at her, so she pretended she was alone in the room and changed as quickly as she could. But not before she glanced at Lawson, who quickly looked away.
So he’d been watching her, then. Not Ahramin, but her. She suppressed a smile.
The thought of it made her skin tingle, but it wasn’t quite enough to keep her awake, given how tired she was. She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
It wasn’t long before she wished she hadn’t, though. The nightmare started right away. She was in a dark place, underground somewhere, as best as she could tell, but it was strange—she could also see herself as if from outside her own body.
Wait—not her own body. Somebody else’s. Someone familiar but not known to her.
Allegra? Was it her mother running through the maze?
Whoever it was, she was scared out of her mind. Bliss felt her fear, the sweat on her forehead, the pumping of her heart. Terror. Utter terror. Bliss felt the menacing presence draw closer, and she knew something awful was about to happen. Both of her perspectives seemed to be closing in on one another; it wouldn’t be long before they would connect somehow, and maybe then she could figure out what was going on.…
But before it could happen, she woke up.
She must have gasped, or made some sort of noise, because she’d barely sat up in bed before Lawson rushed over to her. “What is it?” he whispered. “Are you okay?”
“Just a nightmare,” she whispered back. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not—you’re shaking,” he said.
It was true—she was cold all of a sudden, and she couldn’t stop shivering.
“Lift the blanket,” Lawson said, and crawled in beside her. “Here, lie down.”
His body was warm and comforting against hers. She buried her head in his chest. “I was so scared,” she said. “It was like I was in two places at once, and something disastrous was going to happen. And I couldn’t stop it, and part of me might have even been responsible. I was so confused,” she said, and then tears came to her eyes. She could still feel the horror in her body. She had never felt so frightened. Who was that girl? What was happening to her? Was it Allegra? If so, what was she running from?
“It’s okay,” Lawson said. “It’s all going to be okay.” He kissed the top of her head and put his arms around her. They were lying together so that his chin rested on her forehead, and he began to kiss her gently at first, and then more passionately, as if not only to comfort her but to let her know, finally, how sorry he was about the way he’d left her back in New York.
Lawson moved his body against hers. His hands were entangled in her hair, and her legs were wrapped around his torso, and it was wonderful, he was so wonderful, and she lost herself in the sensation of their being together again, until the blanket slipped and she remembered they were in a room with four other people.
“Not here,” she whispered. “We can’t.”
Lawson said nothing, but he was already moving away. He must have known she was right, though she would have liked him to protest a little harder.
“Our timing is bad,” she told him.
He kissed her one more time before going back to his own bed. “Sleep well.”
As if.
THIRTY
Schuyler
chuyler texted Oliver when she left Decca’s house. Need you. Come back? I can’t do this alone.
Oliver returned to Los Angeles on the next available flight. Whatever duties he had to the Repository, his duties as her Conduit and friend always came first. Schuyler met him outside the airport and jumped into his arms as soon as he came out the door.
“Oh, hey,” he said. “I missed you too.” But she noticed he returned her hug rather awkwardly.
“I’m sorry…” She felt a little embarrassed at being so enthusiastic to see him, especially after everything that had happened between them.
“It’s okay.” He patted her back and stepped away from her, just the tiniest bit, and Schuyler understood that, while they were still friends, things had changed, and she couldn’t take him for granted anymore. Whatever had happened with that witch in the East Village had really worked. He was his own man now.
“I have so much to tell you, I hardly know where to start,” she said. “But first—tell me what happened in New York.”
Oliver shook his head. “It wasn’t good. The Reposito
ry’s been destroyed, and Renfield was murdered. The Silver Bloods can break the wards now, so the Coven is basically unprotected.”
Schuyler accepted this information; it was nothing new. The vampires’ strength had weakened considerably since the Covens had disbanded.
“And it looks like someone else was there too. They rifled through the notes. The files were left open.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” Oliver sighed. “Whoever it was used Bliss’s code.”
Bliss! Schuyler felt a glimmer of hope. “Do you think it was her?”
“Maybe. If luck is on our side. Remember Jane Murray? Our old history teacher? She has the spirit of the Watcher now, and she’s back too. She made contact with the Coven. She’s helping them to locate Bliss, see if she has the wolves.”
So many pieces to this puzzle of theirs; so many things that had to happen before they had any chance of succeeding. And so many complications.
They walked toward the parking lot for the car. Oliver said, “There’s more. The Silver Bloods burned down our safe house in London. Don’t worry, no one was hurt—it was empty when they torched it. And the good news is that Kingsley’s back.”
“Where’d he go?”
“He wouldn’t say, but wherever he went, he said he knows now what the demons are planning, and he thinks he might have an idea on how to subvert it. He’s called for a Venator conclave to plan the attack.”
“Attack?”
“He thinks it’s better to draw them out, especially now that we know they’re on to us and they found the safe house so easily. Since we know where the Gate of Promise is, he’d rather have them bring the battle to us than wait for them to sneak up on us. Show all our cards, as they say. Make it happen.”
“Is that wise?”
“Who am I to judge? I’m just a lowly Conduit, not a Venator. But strategically, I think it’s wise. We don’t know when the Silver Bloods plan to ambush the gate, but this way, we can have the upper hand. We can prepare.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “So tell me what’s been happening here? Did you have a happy little reunion with your grandmother? Was she round and soft? Did she bake you cookies?”
The Gates of Paradise Page 13