Misguided Angel

by Melissa de la Cruz

  Yet I do not think he is lying, Schuyler sent.

  I agree. He believes he is the gatekeeper, which is more troubling, Jack replied. Let’s deal with this later. For now, we must leave this place as quickly as we can.

  The three of them went into town to load up on supplies, purchasing only things they could carry on their backs and nothing they didn’t need. Before leaving New York, Jack had transferred monies to several secret offshore accounts that remained unknown to the Committee. He left to find suitable outdoor equipment while Schuyler and Ghedi went to the market to buy food—more flour, rice, coffee, eggs, canned soups. The Italian proprietress regarded Ghedi’s dark skin and Schuyler’s odd clothes with a suspicious eye, but she was mollified when Schuyler pulled out a huge bankroll of euros.

  Schuyler wondered about her newfound appetite. She was voracious, and it was a hunger that could be satisfied with a good meal. She had not taken the blood since leaving New York. Jack had urged her to perform the Caerimonia Osculor, but she found there was no need. If anything, she felt stronger and more clearheaded without the blood. She strove to avoid it for as long as she was able. It felt wrong, somehow, to share something so intimate with someone who wasn’t her love. With Oliver, of course, it had been different. It was still difficult to think about her best friend and former familiar. Her heart had healed, but she missed their friendship.

  “I am sorry about your mother, Ghedi,” Schuyler said as they walked back to meet Jack at the boat. “We both are.”

  “It is all right. She is dead now. It is better.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It is the truth. Now she is at peace.”

  “And Father B., too,” Schuyler added. “You must have been very close to him.”

  “He was the only family I ever really knew. He taught me everything. But it is all right, signorina. In my country I have seen worse. I was very lucky to have been chosen by the missionaries.” Ghedi smiled.

  It was amazing how someone who had survived the double-fisted tragedy of war and grief could call himself lucky, Schuyler thought. Whether he was telling them the truth or was simply confused or misinformed about what or who he was, he was a good man, she could feel it. She found much to admire in Ghedi’s humor and optimism, and chastised herself for her constant anxiety and stress. Ghedi had lost everything, not once but several times in his life. His home was a pile of rubble, his entire family was dead, and his mentor murdered. Yet he treaded lightly, with a spring in his step and a smile on his face.

  Whereas she who had everything—for Jack was everything—was constantly bemoaning the fact that she had no idea how long it would last, the two of them together. Instead of fearing the future, I should live and enjoy the present, she told herself.

  When they arrived back at the harbor, Jack was locking up the cabin. He had folded the blankets, refilled the kerosene lamp, and had made sure the fishing boat was no worse for wear after their visit.

  Thank you for sheltering us, Schuyler thought, putting a hand on a cabin wall. May your harvests be plentiful. She picked up one of the hiker’s racks that Jack had left on the deck and began to fill it with provisions: the food supplies, a thin waterproof blanket, the battered Repository files that she kept in a watertight envelope.

  Schuyler lifted her pack onto her shoulders and struggled a bit under the weight until she found her bearings.

  “Too heavy?” Jack asked. “I can take more.” He was already carrying the tents and the bulk of their supplies.

  “No, it’s all right.”

  Ghedi straightened up as well. “Ready?”

  They kept to the paved road that led from the town up to the mountain path, which was mostly deserted except for an occasional car or two. Once they were a few miles out of town, Jack led them off the road, deeper into the forest. Schuyler was glad for the new warm jacket she had bought in town, along with the thick socks and the hiking boots. For a while she marveled at how much her life had changed.

  How odd to think that not too long ago she was sitting in a classroom dreaming her life away, lost in a world of her own making, living as if she were almost half asleep, a wallflower on the fringes, the girl without a voice. Then last year, she and Oliver had embarked on that harried, whirlwind tour around the world—their only instinct to run away as far and fast as they could. She realized that was why there had been so many close brushes with the Venators, who patrolled the metropolitan areas. She and Oliver had been on their turf.

  But not in the forests, Jack had explained. Not in the wild. Here, they were safe.

  For fifteen years Schuyler had almost never left New York. What a difference the Transformation had made; not only had she traveled all round the globe, now she was hiking the Italian mountain range. She looked over to Jack, who felt her gaze.

  All right? he sent.

  “It’s an adventure.” She smiled. It was a rush being on their own, finally free of the Countess. Every day with you is a new adventure.

  Jack smiled and continued to forge ahead, clearing a path with his walking stick, brushing away dead branches and warning them of slippery rocks.

  For a human, Ghedi displayed a monumental level of endurance, but even he was tired after a full day’s climb. They arrived at a plateau near the top of Monte Rosa and stopped to enjoy the panoramic view of the coast below. They had made good time. Tomorrow, if they kept up the pace, they would be in Pontremoli by midnight.

  They agreed to rest for the evening. There was a creek not too far away where they could refill their water bottles, and the ground was nice and dry. Ghedi chose to set up a little ways away to give them their privacy. Schuyler removed her pack and helped Jack set up their tent. They worked wordlessly together, a team. Once the tent was secure, Schuyler offered to bring fresh water to boil for supper. She poured the water into the kettle and set it on the fire that Jack had started.

  “We have to ask him,” Schuyler said, kneeling in front of the flames. “It just doesn’t make sense, unless he was Baldessarre’s Conduit. But somehow I don’t think he was.”

  Jack promised to bring it up, and when Ghedi joined them in front of the fire, Jack let their friend warm up a little before he asked the question. “Tell me, Ghedi,” he said in a friendly voice. “How is it that one of the most important places in our history has come under the jurisdiction of a teenage priest?” Jack removed his shoe and shook out a few pebbles, stretching his long legs closer to the fire. He had adopted a casual air, but for a moment Schuyler was worried Jack was going to grab Ghedi by the throat again.

  “What happened to the vampires who were guarding the site, you mean,” Ghedi said. He gazed off into the distance. “They are lost.”

  “Killed?”

  “I do not know. No one does. They have been gone a long time now. Father B. told me that when his order took over, only the Conduits were left. The original guardians were long gone.”

  “Silver Bloods?” Schuyler asked, looking at Jack.

  “No.” Jack shook his head. “If the Croatan had taken the gate, the world as we know it would not exist. Something else must have happened.”

  “You mentioned that Father B. had questions for Lawrence,” she said to Ghedi. “I don’t know if I have those answers, but I can try to find them. That’s what we’re here for.”

  “Yes. We have much to discuss, but it is a dangerous business. Let us talk when we are in the safety of the monastery. The original gatekeepers put wards there.” He looked nervously around the surrounding woods, scared that they were being watched. Schuyler understood that even in their relative isolation, with the Silver Blood threat, one was never quite alone.

  “Ghedi is right: we shall not mention it until then,” Jack said, throwing a stick into the fire and watching the flames dance around it.

  Schuyler agreed, Ghedi’s words turning over slowly in her head. Something about what he’d said was bothering her. When the Petruvian Order took over, only the Conduits were left. “So Father Baldess
arre, he wasn’t . . . he wasn’t a vampire either,” she said slowly, letting the information sink in. She still couldn’t believe it.

  “No. He was human, like me.”

  “And when did his order take charge?” Jack asked sharply.

  “Sometime in the fifteenth century.”

  Schuyler exchanged a wary look with Jack. Humans had been in charge of protecting one of the Gates of Hell for centuries now. This was certainly not what they had thought they would find on their search. Human gatekeepers! What did this mean? And what questions did they have? What were they hoping her grandfather would tell them?

  Ghedi said good night, and retired for the evening. When he was gone, Schuyler removed the stack of Repository files from her pack. She rifled through the yellowed pages, reading.

  “I just don’t understand,” she said, looking up from her papers. “Halcyon was an Enmortal. Like Lawrence, like Kingsley, like every one of those who were inducted into the Order of the Seven. So how did Father Baldessarre and the Petruvians come to be the gatekeepers? Something must have happened in the fifteenth century—but what?”

  Jack frowned. “The only reason would be desperation. Halcyon must have had no other choice. Otherwise, why would she trust a group of humans to do a vampire’s job?”

  They puzzled over it some more. Schuyler did not want to voice any more fears or show how unsettled their latest discovery had made her. While she was half-human herself, the Blue Bloods were strictly a closed society. Human knowledge of vampire existence was tightly restricted to the traditional positions of familiar or Conduit. Red Bloods were not privy to the workings of the shadow world. What Ghedi had described was a breach of the highest level, something that could upend everything she knew and understood about the Code of the Vampires. And if the Code was not real, then what was?

  She took the first watch and kissed Jack good night. He could not argue her out of it, and had finally agreed to rest.

  Schuyler shivered slightly, but something told her it wasn’t from the mountain breeze. Four centuries had past with human gatekeepers guarding the Gate of Promise. She was glad for the fire. It burned a clear, azure blue, steady and true, against the wind.

  The Man From the Citadel

  Florence, 1452

  The Silver Blood chanced a glance in their direction, and immediately the cloaked stranger disappeared.

  “We’ve been spotted. Now!” Dre urged, running toward their prey. Gio and Tomi burst out of the shadows, golden swords at the ready, and the chase resumed.

  They followed the Silver Blood through the crooked streets, all the way into the cathedral, to the very top of Brunelleschi’s unfinished dome, the highest point in Florence.

  The Silver Blood dodged their blows with an agility and strength equal to their own. It was unlike any other they had ever encountered, but in the end, it was still no match for the three armed Venators. Backed into a corner, it snarled and hissed, knowing it had already lost.

  Dre drew his sword to its throat and prepared to deliver the final stroke, when a voice rang out from the stairway. Someone else had followed them up to the spire.

  “Heel, Venator.”

  They turned to see a hooded stranger approach. Under the moonlight, they saw that he was wearing the colored robes and gold chains of the Citadel. His features were still hidden by the hood of his cloak, but it was the same human the Silver Blood had spoken to earlier.

  “This creature is not yours to send to Hell, for he is already there,” the dark man declared, and with a wave of his hand the Silver Blood disappeared into the black flames.

  Tomi gasped, shocked and dismayed as she realized that the creature they were chasing was no Silver Blood, no fallen angel from Heaven, but a demon from Hell itself.

  The hooded stranger teetered on the edge of the rim. He lifted a single foot outward into nothingness and plunged through the chasm of the unfinished dome. His robes blown wide in the wind revealed three black symbols engraved in the flesh of his arm. One was of a sword piercing a star. The last time she’d seen that symbol was on Lucifer’s wrist in Rome, when the Dark Prince of the Silver Bloods was calling himself Caligula.

  The three Venators ran down to the bottom of the church, where they found the body of the hooded stranger carrying Lucifer’s mark.

  The Red Blood was dead.

  EIGHT

  Wildflowers

  Even though the sunlight, lovely and warm, was streaming into the tent, when Schuyler woke up, she felt a fearsome cold. She had gotten so used to sleeping next to Jack’s warm body, she was at a bit of a loss to find that he was not by her side. She groped at the emptiness next to her. His sleeping bag was still warm. He had not been gone long.

  Love? she sent.

  I am near, do not worry. Go back to sleep.

  She laid her head back against the blankets and fell asleep, dreaming of fields strewn with wildflowers.

  An hour later she rose and walked down to the nearby creek they had found the night before. All her life she had lived in relative comfort, and it was strange to be out in the wild, to feel unencumbered and liberated from the routine of modern life.

  She took off her shirt and her waterlogged shoes, stripped down to her underwear. She would wash her clothes in the stream. In the absence of soap, she hit the fabric with a rock to shake out the dirt. This much she knew from watching Hattie wash the clothes at home. Cordelia had not thought much of modern appliances.

  She was in the middle of her chore when she felt a presence behind her. She turned to see Jack watching her. He smiled, the first real smile she’d seen on his face since they had left New York. It had been difficult to fully enjoy each other’s company under the watchful gaze of the Countess’s Venators.

  “Good morning.” She smiled. Jack had washed as well, and his hair was shiny in the sun. He was as handsome as a god, she thought. Was it just her imagination, or had their exile and journey added to his visage? Every day he looked less like the pretty-boy lacrosse player he had been, and more like the ancient heavenly warrior he really was.

  “I brought you something,” he said, holding out a bouquet of tiny violet sprays.

  She put one in her hair. Even in the midst of everything they were doing, he was always thinking of her. “Thank you.”

  He put his arms around her, and soon they were lying in the grass together. She slipped her hands under his shirt, loving how warm and strong his body felt against hers, loving how closely he held her. Yet even though they were together, she could not stop worrying about how much time they would have—

  We have all the time in the world.

  You don’t know that. What if . . . She hated how worried she sounded, but she couldn’t help it.

  Don’t. Whatever happens, happens.

  Right.

  They were prepared to face whatever consequences breaking the bond would bring. Mimi’s wrath. The wasting disease that would weaken him to the point of paralysis. They were up to the challenge.

  But I’m scared, she sent.

  I’m not.

  In a way, their monthlong incarceration had been useful, as they had been able to articulate their fears and hopes for the future, testing the boundaries of their new relationship. They had been able to plan not only for the immediate situation, but for whatever dark destiny awaited them. Schuyler knew where she stood with Jack. And he knew where she was coming from. She had never felt more secure or certain about anything in her life than the depth and fortitude of his love. He had gone to Hell and back to save her, and she had given her blood to him to save his life.

  But the bond . . .

  We shall forge a new bond.

  You don’t have doubts about relinquishing the old? Schuyler had never felt brave enough to ask him this question before, as she still feared his answer. She had never used their closeness in the glom to peer into his memories, to see if he had any regrets for the choice he had made. She respected his privacy, but she also knew she would not be able to be
ar it if she found that he carried a lingering yearning for his twin. She would die of jealousy to know it.

  Not one. This is a bond we choose to make, not one that was decided for us. I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe that love is predetermined.

  “We should get back,” Schuyler whispered. They didn’t have time for this. No time for love; for each other.

  “Not yet,” Jack sighed, his eyes still closed, his warm fingers tracing a line down her naked stomach.

  Schuyler smiled at him indulgently, letting her hair brush his cheek. He twined a fistful and pulled her to him so that their lips met again. She opened her mouth to his, and his hand reached underneath her camisole.

  She bent down toward him, straddling his waist, then he flipped her over so that she lay supine underneath him, her white throat open and exposed.

  He traced a finger on her neck, and she closed her eyes in anticipation.

  She could feel him kiss her jaw, then underneath her neck, and she pulled him closer, closer.

  Finally he let his teeth slide over her skin, and then in one quick thrust, she felt his fangs pierce her.

  She gasped. It was the strongest he had ever dared, the deepest intrusion into her body, and one she had not been ready for, but it was glorious. She could feel his very life force intermingling with hers, could feel the beat of his heart in her heart—the two of them together, as he held her in his grasp. She felt light-headed and dizzy and drugged, and her arms clutched his back as she pulled him ever closer, ever nearer.

  More, she thought. More.

  In answer, Jack released her for a moment, then bit her a second time. This time, when he kissed her with his fangs, the piercing sweetness filled her with that same painful but wonderful ache.

  She was his love and his familiar. They were attached in a thousand ways—tiny invisible hooks that bound them to each other no matter what Heaven or its former residents declared.