Then she was kissing him, and it was Schuyler’s lips, and she smelled just like Schuyler, and her hair was silky and soft like Schuyler’s, and he knew that when her back was turned, he would see a mole right between her shoulder blades that was just like Schuyler’s. She was Schuyler, and she returned his love, and Oliver did not see why he had to pretend he did not want this, did not want her, did not want exactly what was happening right now.
TWELVE
Blood Service
“Charles! You’re back so soon,” Allegra said, when she returned to the apartment. She hadn’t expected to see him, and as she pulled off her coat and scarf, she hoped that he would not notice her hands were shaking.
“Everything finished up earlier than expected.” His eyes lit up upon seeing her walk into the room. “Where’ve you been?”
“Looking at paintings,” she said. Since they could read each other’s thoughts—up to a certain point—it was easier to conceal lies with half-truths.
“Did you buy anything else?” He knew about the purchase she’d made the day before, but not who the artist was, or what the subject of the painting was.
“Not today.”
“It’s nice that you’ve taken an interest in art again,” he said, smiling affectionately at her. Charles had come into his own the last few years, shooting up to his full height. He had finally lost the awkward formality and stiffness he’d had as a teenager. These days he moved with confidence and grace. At twenty-one he had gotten hold of the substantial Van Alen trusts that made up the bulk of their inheritance, and he talked about building a media company, making a difference in the world. Recently tapped as one of New York’s most eligible bachelors in a popular society magazine, Charles Van Alen was handsome and striking, with his dark blue-black hair and strong Roman features. He did not have Bendix Chase’s affable geniality, but instead displayed a kingly benevolence that had earned him respect and fear beyond the vampire community.
He patted the space on the couch next to him, and Allegra cuddled up beside him, his arm curled over her shoulder. They fit together—they always had—it had just taken her too long to see it in this lifetime. She began to relax, feeling the distress of the day’s revelations beginning to fade in his presence. What happened with Ben had been a mistake from the beginning, a schoolgirl crush, unworthy of her attention. She felt bad for Ben, of course. A familiar’s mark was hard to bear, but Ben would be all right. He had money and comfort, and in time he would forget about her. If only she hadn’t walked into that gallery.
“Everything all right with the Elders?” she asked. “What did they want?”
A dark shadow passed over Charles’s face, but it cleared without Allegra noticing. “Just the usual Transformation issues. I don’t even know why they wanted me here. They’re just wasting my time.”
“Mr. Van Alen? Your car is here,” the butler said, noise-lessly entering the room.
“You’re going out?” Allegra asked, leaning away from him. Charles knew she had plans that evening with her old field hockey teammates, and it was only natural that he would make plans of his own. “Dede is it?”
Charles nodded. He had started taking familiars, and looked robust, flush with blood and life, power and invincibil-ity. As leader of the Coven, he was allowed certain privileges, and kept a retinue of familiars in every city, a girl in every port. He was good to them, showering gifts, attention, and the occasional bauble from Cartier or Buccellati. Allegra had seen the bills; she was the one who paid them: a rose-gold watch with a diamond bezel, its heavy weight like a comfort; sparkling bracelets finely wrought with sapphires and emeralds; delicate petal earrings from Van Cleef.
“Did she like that watch you gave her for her birthday?”
she asked, thinking that thirty thousand dollars bought a very generous gift. But then again, the Red Bloods gave them something much more precious.
Charles looked concerned at the sharpness of her tone.
“You can’t be jealous, Allegra.” He sounded confused, as if she had changed the rules.
“I’m not,” she said, giving him an easy smile and reaching to ruffle his hair. This was the way it was. The way they had always lived. The Blue Blood way. There was the bond and then there were human familiars. One provided nourishment for the soul, the other fed the immortal blood.
Charles rested his warm hands on her face. “You look pale and you feel cold,” he said, rubbing her cheeks. “You need a bite. And I don’t mean dinner.”
“I know.” She hung her head. It was an unspoken disagreement between them. She knew Charles did not like that she had not taken a familiar since that first doomed disaster in high school. They never spoke of Ben, but she knew Charles would be relieved once she took a new familiar. She had been putting it off, hesitating, afraid of falling in love with the wrong person all over again—a ridiculous fear, surely. She had had thousands of human familiars in her multiple lifetimes and had only fallen that one time. There was another reason, of course—one she did not even want to admit to herself—but she didn’t want to forget about Ben, and taking another’s blood would wash away some of the memory of their joining.
Charles frowned. “If you don’t want to go through the trouble, there is always the service. Let the Conduits take care of you. You’ll feel much better.”
Allegra nodded. Blue Bloods whose familiars were not available or had passed away had the option of using a blood service founded by the Conduits, wherein screened humans were offered to the vampires at their discretion. The service did not have the seedy undertone of the blood houses. They were clinical transactions, not unlike ordering a steak from room service. “I’ll think about it,” she promised.
Charles kissed her on the forehead. “I know you’re still worried about what happened last time, but you need to move on.”
There were no secrets between them. Not anymore.
Charles knew she had been in love with Ben, that her relationship with her human familiar had almost jeopardized everything, including the bond that was the foundation of the Coven and tied them to the earth and to each other. That he forgave her, that he still loved her, was something Allegra had to live with every day.
She sank down on the couch, relieved that she had left Ben’s studio as quickly as she had. There had been no temptation to stay. She was home and safe. She would meet her friends for a quick dinner and maybe dial up the service, as Charles had suggested. It was time.
“Good. Charge it to my account,” Charles said. He had read her mind as usual.
When Allegra returned from a raucous night with her old teammates, she found a note on her bedside table. It was a business card with the name of the service and a phone number. The Conduits could be trusted to provide a good familiar, maybe someone they could send to New York with her afterward. She picked up the phone to dial, when there was a knock on the door and the butler appeared. “A letter arrived for you, miss Van Alen.”
Allegra opened the envelope. Inside was a note hastily scribbled on an embossed monogrammed card. SBC. Stephen Bendix Chase.
Meet me in the Redwood Room at the Clift. Please.
It’s important.
—Ben
THIRTEEN
Cycle House
Afew days after they met up with the Venators, Jack came back from a scouting trip with unsettling news.
The human Conduit Alastair Robertson, who had told Jack about the holy woman who might be Catherine of Siena, had been found murdered in his home. Red Blood police were convinced the violence had been random, a home invasion that had gone awry. But with Nephilim about, and the Coven in shambles, Jack believed otherwise. He teamed up with the Lennox twins to track down a lead on Gezira, an island on the far side of the Nile, as mud found at the crime scene had tell-tale red clay from the northern riverbank.
With Jack away, Schuyler was the only one in their hotel room when Dehua Chen burst through the door. The Angel of Immortality looked uncharacteristically unhinged. A sleeve o
n her blouse was torn, and her face was covered with scratches.
“What happened?” Schuyler asked, jumping up immediately and reaching for her weapon.
“The Cairo cycle house is under attack—that Nephilim who got away came back with a few new friends,” she huffed.
“The boys won’t be able to get back in time. Deming is fighting them, but she will be overpowered soon. I got here as fast as I could. Come. Help us.”
Schuyler followed Dehua as they raced through the winding streets of Cairo, the two of them a blur of black silk and silver steel. The cycle house was located in the Citadel, an ancient complex built high on the cliffs towering over the eastern edge of the city. Built by Saladin to ward off the Crusaders, it was the most dominant place on the skyline. The cycle house was under attack! The Nephilim truly were bent on revenge if they were after the unborn Blue Blood spirits that were stored there. No more blood spirits meant no more births for this Coven.
Dehua led Schuyler through the footpaths that led to the hidden secret chambers. The Venator explained that they had received an all-points-distress signal from the Wardens at the Citadel. When Schuyler and Dehua arrived, the vampires working for the House of Records were already dead, and a fierce crew of Egyptian Venators was engaged in battle with a host of Nephilim. The demon-born were carrying torches burning with the Black Fire, but so far they had been unable to break into the sacristy, where the canisters holding the blood spirits were kept.
The heat was overpowering, and black smoke covered the hallway. Dehua pushed through into the antechamber. “Oh no,” she cried, as she and Schuyler stepped over the fallen bodies of dead Venators, whose corpses had been hacked to pieces or beheaded, with their eyes gouged out or burned. The door to the sacristy had been blown open, and Schuyler feared they had come too late to save anyone, least of all themselves.
Deming was surrounded by a swarm of the human demons. She was fighting them off, but they were closing in one by one. She held a golden urn tucked under one arm, while she slashed at her enemies with her sword. “NEXI INFIDELES! ” she screamed. Death to the faithless! Death to the traitors!
The Nephilim screamed, and their fury filled the smoky black room. There were ten, twenty, thirty of them, and they fell upon Deming in a rage, like cockroaches in a frenzy. Soon Schuyler could not see the brave Chinese Venator or her golden sword.
“Dear god, there’s too many of them,” Dehua cried, falling to her knees. “We’re not going to make it! Deming!” she wailed.
Schuyler held her ground. “Pull yourself together!” she ordered the flailing Venator. She wished Jack were here, but since he wasn’t, she had to be brave for all of them. Abbadon would never let the unborn spirits die. He would not give up the cycle house. He would die defending it, and so would she.
They didn’t have much time, as smoke from the Black Fire was engulfing the room, and Schuyler had to squint to see, and try not to breathe. They had to get out of there as quickly as possible. She wasn’t a trained fighter, but she was light and fast, and if she and Dehua worked together, they could surprise their enemies. “You go that way, I’ll take the front.”
The stricken Venator nodded, wiped her tears, and un-sheathed her sword. They split up and crept toward their respective stations.
When they were ready, Schuyler raised Gabrielle’s sword and took up the Venator’s rally. “DEATH! DEATH! DEATH
TO THE FAITHLESS! DEATH TO THE INFIDELS!”
Dehua joined Schuyler in screaming the Blue Blood battle cry. They were angels and warriors, and if they fell, they would die fighting. There was no other way. With a mighty swoop, they hacked their way through the dark, heaving crowd.
FOURTEEN
Doppelgangers
Mimi kicked off her sandals as she wandered through the party, liking the feel of sand on her bare feet. She didn’t know where Oliver had disappeared to, and thought that she should start looking for him soon, in case he had gotten into some trouble. As far as she could tell, they had arrived at a perfectly pleasant and ordinary New England wedding. It was a strange venue for their quest, but when she noticed a certain dark-haired gentleman dressed in a beautifully tailored linen suit, making his way to her side, she suddenly understood what this was all about.
“Mimi,” the man said, with a rougish smile she remembered so well.
For a moment her heart leapt with joy to see him—her love come back to her—but it was soon extinguished when she looked into his eyes. “I’m not a fool. I know what this is.
You’re not him,” she said flatly. Her words were stronger than her conviction, however, for it was a good imitation. The boy standing next to her had Kingsley’s swoop of dark hair and dark eyes with the mischievous sparkle. He even smelled like Kingsley—like cigarettes and whiskey, burnt sugar and coffee—and the combination made Mimi’s heart beat a little faster. Seeing this double was painful. It only reminded her how long it had been since she had seen the real Kingsley.
How long it had been since he had held her in his strong arms.
How long it had been since he had teased and cajoled her into a smile.
“How do you know? You came down here to get me back.
Well, here I am,” he said with that familiar, flirtatious grin.
“How are you?”
“I’m from here, remember? This isn’t going to play with me.”
“Speaking of play, I know how much you loved our little games,” he said, taking her hand and rubbing her palm. When he touched her, she had a flash of memory—of a bathrobe falling to the floor, and his fangs on her neck… of his body, lean and hard against her.
She shook her head. “I didn’t come down here for some doppelganger,” she snarled.
Not-Kingsley winked at Mimi. “Suit yourself. But you’re not going to be able to keep going downward without your friend. I’m pretty sure we’ve claimed him,” he said, motioning to the terrace, where Oliver was kissing the girl who wasn’t Schuyler.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! This has gone far enough!” Mimi tossed her champagne glass to the ground and stomped over to give her Conduit a piece of her mind.
“Oliver Hazard-Perry!” she yelled, feeling embarrassed for him. Oliver and the wraith were seated on a lounge chair, wrapped up in a tight embrace, and the heated action had almost reached the “get a room” stage. If Mimi didn’t know better, she would have sworn the wraith was about to stick her fangs in Oliver’s neck. “We need to move on, bud,” she said, shaking him.
Oliver opened his eyes. He looked drugged and dazed, as if Mimi had woken him from a wonderful dream.
He shook his head slowly. “I can’t leave. I’m getting married today.”
“That girl isn’t who you think she is. You know that. I know you do. You’re not an idiot,” Mimi snapped.
“She has no idea what she’s talking about. She never did,”
Not-Schuyler said, with a contemptuous toss of her head.
“Stay here and grow old with me, Ollie. Just like we always talked about.”
“Let him go, siren,” Mimi said.
“Don’t listen to this bitch. I know you hate her. We’ve always hated her.”
Oliver sighed heavily and pushed her away. “No. We didn’t. We never hated Mimi. We might have been a bit afraid of her, or intimidated by her, and I know you pitied her at the last. But we never hated her.” He turned to Mimi. “We didn’t hate you, Mimi. Schuyler doesn’t hate you.”
Mimi nodded as she helped him off the chaise. “I know.
That’s why I provoked it. I thought it would help if this thing said something Schuyler would never say. Come on.”
The doppelganger glared at Oliver. “You dare defy the desires of a siren?”
“Yes,” he said, finding his voice.
The siren screeched her disapproval and dug her claws in-to his arm.
“RELEASE HIM!” Mimi roared, as Oliver tried to pull away, blanching at the sight of his beloved’s face morphing in-to a harridan’s m
ask.
The siren shrieked in anger.
Mimi removed the needle from her bra so it turned into her sword, and she swung at the harpy. The blade glinted with silver sparks.
The siren hissed and spat acid, but recoiled at the weapon as Mimi thrust it forward. Mimi held the blade at the creature’s throat, and finally it dropped its hold on Oliver, disappearing into silver flame. In a blink, the skies overhead turned black, and booming thunder roared in the distance.
Lightning cracked, and rain began to fall in stinging shards.
The illusion had been broken, melting into the shadows once again.
Oliver and Mimi walked quickly through the scattering crowd back to where the mustang was parked by the entrance.
Mimi rolled up the roof hurriedly before they were drenched.
“You all right? I know it’s a hard one,” Mimi said as she pulled out of the lot. This was only the first test, the first temptation. She knew the path would be difficult, and that Helda would not let go of Kingsley’s soul so easily.
Oliver rubbed his arm where the creature’s claws had dug into his skin. He was beginning to realize that he might have bitten off more than he could chew with this little adventure into the underworld. But it was with relief that he saw they were wearing their old clothes again. The hideous wedding mirage was truly over. “Where were you?”
“They tried to tempt me with some fake version of Kingsley.”
“Why was it so easy for you to walk away from him while I couldn’t?”
Mimi thought about it. “I was… born here. Angels of Darkness were made from the clay that made the underworld.
So I knew it was just a fake. I know their tricks, which gave me an advantage.” There were other signs, too, she thought. The real Kingsley was always unshaven, and the one at the wedding had skin that was smooth and soft to the touch. Too soft.
Kingsley was a glittering knife with a diamond edge, and his skin was rough like sandpaper. Even so, resisting the siren had not been as easy as she made it seem, remembering that when she had first spotted the doppelganger under the trees, she had been convinced that her love had returned to her at last.
Lost in Time_A Blue Bloods Novella Page 7
