Lost in Time

by Melissa de la Cruz

  Gatekeeper

  Schuyler flinched as the ladies-in-waiting did their worst.

  They rouged her cheeks and lips, slicked her hair with hippo-potamus oil (a beauty secret that Nefertiti was said to have popularized), then curled it in ringlets and soaked her skin in greasy perfume. They told her to strip down to her underwear and forced her into a lacy white dress with a corset that nipped her waist and had a dangerously low neckline. As threatened, they padded her bustline with a pair of breast-shaped foam cutlets.

  “Work with what we can,” the older woman sneered, tightening the stays until Schuyler felt she couldn’t breathe.

  The younger one brought high-heeled slippers for her to wear. “Remember, it’s better not to fight,” she said kindly.

  “There’s no getting out of it, so you might as well try to enjoy it.”

  Schuyler did not reply. When they left her alone, she walked to the mirror, appalled at her reflection. She looked like a perversion of a bride: the dress bordered on indecent, with a slit up the leg that reached her thigh, and the fabric was almost see-through. She’d never worn anything this revealing in her life, not even at the beach.

  She wondered how Deming and Dehua were faring, and hoped they would be able to take care of themselves. Had she led them into the worst danger of all? She thought of what was about to happen, and tried not to panic. She would find a way out of this, she told herself, with a hand on her stomach. She would survive whatever injury was awaiting her. She would be strong so she could live. She tried not to think of Danel’s hard, cruel gaze, and the images he had sent to her mind. Whatever happened, she would fight him. And if she could not, then she would concentrate on living beyond it. She would not give in to fear and despair.

  The door opened, and Schuyler inhaled sharply, wondering if her time was up. She whispered a prayer to her mother to help her stay strong.

  Another of the ladies-in-waiting, a white-haired woman wearing gauzy silk robes and jangly bracelets, entered the room. However, she had not come to fix Schuyler’s hair or check that she was adequately perfumed. “Come quickly,” she said. “We have a little time before the Croatan arrive. We must free the others.”

  Schuyler followed her savior through the maze of hallways. “Who are you?” she asked.

  The woman smiled. She had a serenity and grace about her that Schuyler found familiar. “I think you already know.”

  “You’re Catherine of Siena,” Schuyler whispered, a little awed that, in the end, her plan had worked. “The gatekeeper.”

  Catherine reminded Schuyler of her own mother. Allegra had the same graceful sense of purpose, gave the same impression that she was floating far above the problems of the world.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Catherine said. “But when they took away your sword I knew I had to wait until they handed you over to the ladies. I had a better chance of getting you out then.”

  “I came with two friends—”

  “Yes. They’re being kept down here,” Catherine said, running a few steps that led to another long hallway. She tested a few doors in a row and finally found the right one. They burst into the room to find Dehua dressed in similar fashion. Her wedding dress was even more indecent—a jeweled bikini top and a low-slung skirt. She ripped off a gem-encrusted lace veil as soon as she saw her rescuers, and leapt to her feet.

  “You are unharmed?” Catherine asked.

  “Just let them try to touch me,” Dehua said with contempt. “We need our swords back.”

  “I have them,” Catherine said. “They were in the armory. I was able to retrieve them before the greedy demons took them,” she said, handing the girls their weapons.

  Dehua stuck her blade into her garter and nodded to Schuyler. “They found out you were Fallen as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is my sister?” she asked Schuyler.

  “I thought she was with you,” Catherine said, interrupt-ing. “I thought they kept the two of you together. I heard that they were selling you both as one unit.”

  “No. They separated us when they handed us over to the devil’s handmaidens. I heard them say something about taking her to the ‘Castle Styx.’ I think Deming fought them—I heard a scuffle—and that was her punishment. She never waits. I wish she hadn’t shown her hand so early.”

  Catherine shook her head. “That’s too far. The castle is beyond Limbo and right at the border of the Kingdom of the Dead. We can’t make it there and back out of the gate in time.”

  “We are not leaving her!” Dehua cried.

  Schuyler agreed. “We can’t leave her here. I brought them here. I need to make sure they get out,” she said to the gatekeeper.

  “If you go after her, I cannot guarantee your safety,” Catherine said. It was too late to argue, however, for as they turned a corner, they had to quickly back away, finding the next passage filled with trolls. Their disappearance had not escaped notice for long. Schuyler had never seen creatures like this before. They were wild and feral, and they sniffed the air, looking for clues.

  “Too late—we’ve got to go now,” Catherine said. “We’ll take the underground path toward the gate. Once we reach past it, they won’t be able to follow.”

  The trolls rounded the next corner and made guttural noises to each other; then one of them let out a long and powerful ear-shattering scream.

  “That’s the alarm. In a second we’ll have demons here too, and Croatan,” Catherine said, pushing them down toward an underground path. “We need to get through the gate.

  Now.”

  Schuyler and Dehua had no choice but to follow, and their speed took them quickly through the narrow passage until they reached an opening. They ran toward what looked like a huge fortress that blocked the whole sky. It looked as if it was made of sheer rock, impenetrable; less than a gate and more like a mountain made of granite.

  “Where’s the gate?” Schuyler panted.

  “That is it,” Catherine said. “It only stops the demon-blooded. We’ll be able to pass.” She shoved the girls toward it.

  Schuyler thought she would hit the firmament, but instead she passed through what felt like a field of cobwebs, a fluffy cotton gauze. Then she was through and standing on a hard stone floor, with a transparent wall behind her. She could hear their voices.

  “NO!” Dehua said. “I’m not leaving here without my sister!”

  The trolls were a breath away, their grunting language ugly and harsh. Beyond them was a piercing scream, the sound of a woman dying. Schuyler felt her blood run cold.

  That was Deming’s voice, and soon Dehua was screaming as well—a shriek that shook the heavens. “My sister!”

  “Schuyler—help me!” Catherine called, and through the wall, Schuyler saw the gatekeeper push the Venator through the gate. She reached for Dehua on the other side, and together they were able to pull the screaming twin to safety, the three of them falling on the floor as the trolls thumped against the gate and a demon howled.

  But the gate held. The strength of the angels kept the creatures on the other side for now. The trolls crashed against it, but it was no use. Dehua fell to the ground, weeping.

  Schuyler wanted to weep as well. She tried to comfort the girl and put her arms around her, but Dehua pushed her away roughly.

  Catherine pressed her hands against the wall and muttered an incantation. The vision of the trolls disappeared and the wall turned solid, as the Gate of Promise closed.

  Now that she was out of the glom, Schuyler looked at her surroundings. They were in a small stone room and the ceiling was pointed. She recognized the shape of the space even from the inside as one of the Giza pyramids. It was just as she’d thought; the Gate of Promise couldn’t have been in a more prominent or popular area of Cairo. It had been right in front of her all along.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The Duke of Hell

  According to Mimi’s internal clock, it had been almost a month since they had arrived in the underworl
d, and since then nothing had changed, nothing had happened. She did not understand what Kingsley wanted from her—it looked like the answer was nothing, and her ego was suffering a terrible beating. Oliver was increasingly restless, and if they stayed any longer they would never find their way back to the surface.

  They would get used to the air down here; their souls would begin to mesh with the fabric of the place. It was time to go.

  Mimi swallowed her pride and made an appointment with the consigliere’s office so she could have time alone with Kingsley. She lived in his home but he was never there, and he never sought her company. She was tired of being a neglected houseguest. If he didn’t want to talk about it, then she would.

  She could not play the waiting game any longer. There was the Coven to think about; she had responsibilities to the larger community and not only to the indulgences of her heart. She did not know what to expect anymore, and if Kingsley did not feel the same about her, well then—she would just have to deal.

  Kingsley sat behind a long ebony table. He looked amused to see her when she entered. “How formal of you, Force. I’ve got to admit when I saw your name on the calendar I was taken aback. If you’d wanted to talk to me, I am down the hall,” he said as he rested his long legs on the edge of the desk and put his hands behind his head. He rocked back in his chair, infuriatingly casual as usual.

  “Right,” Mimi said, sitting rigidly across from him. “Except you’re never home.”

  “Hell’s a big place. I’m busy,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

  Now that she had his attention, she faltered. She’d re-hearsed her lines that morning, determined to lay the truth on the table; but “I love you” seemed too forward to open with, while “How do you feel about me?” too weak. She couldn’t tell him what she felt, not with him smirking at her like that. It was just too humiliating, and even though she had sworn to herself not to let her conceit or his insouciance get in the way of declaring her love, she abruptly decided that he was simply not worth it. This was a joke. All this time she’d imagined that he had suffered greatly, that he had missed her, and that he would greet her arrival with the open arms that liberated cit-izens showered upon conquering heroes. Nothing could have been further from reality. She stood up from her chair. “You know what, you’re right. This is ridiculous. I’m wasting your time.”

  Kingsley leaned forward, almost falling off his chair and losing that cocky demeanor for a moment. He righted himself, but kept his feet planted on the ground instead of swinging them onto his desk again. “Hold on, now. Before you go, I’ve got a question.”

  She remained standing, waiting for him to speak.

  “What are you doing here, really?” he asked. “In the underworld, I mean.”

  Mimi scoffed. She glared at him. “What kind of a question is that? What do you mean what am I doing here? What does it look like? What did you think? Of course I came for you.”

  He looked confused. “For me? How so?” He tapped a finger on his cheek.

  She loathed him. Did he really mean to humiliate her like this? He had always been aloof, but never cruel. He had a wicked sense of humor, but he was never mean. Fine. If he wanted her to spell it out, she would give him the satisfaction.

  At least it meant he would have to listen to what she had to say. “I mean… I missed you. I wanted to see you again. I came here for you. You know, so we could…” She hesitated, as a lump had formed in her throat and tears had sprung to her eyes—mostly because he was looking at her with so much hostility she couldn’t bear it. “It doesn’t matter now. I mean, it’s obvious you don’t…” She could not continue and made abruptly for the door.

  Kingsley jumped from his seat and put a hand on her arm to keep her from escaping. His eyes were narrowed to slits, and his face was angry. “Hold on a sec. I thought you were here for the Coven. I know what’s happening up there; thought maybe you needed something from the dead’s kingdom. But you want me to believe you’re not here for any reason other than… What d’you mean, all this… was for me?”

  Mimi wanted to die of embarrassment. Kingsley was star-ing at her as if he’d never heard of something so stupid. There were so many things unsaid in their relationship—if you could call it that—and it was glaringly obvious that while she considered him the love of her life, in his view she was merely some chick he’d hooked up with a couple of times. The dis-crepancy was so large it was painful to learn she had lived under a misguided illusion all along. She’d spent the last year trying to get him back, and now this. “Yes. It was all for you.

  Happy?”

  “But why?” he asked, still mystified.

  “To rescue you.”

  To his credit, he didn’t laugh at her. His forehead furrowed. “It’s no small task to travel beyond the seventh. Surely you’ve got a more substantial reason for your journey. Why not be honest about your agenda? You always have a trick or two up your sleeve. What is it? What do you really want from the underworld? maybe I can help.”

  Mimi shook her head. She’d told him everything and he didn’t believe her. For a moment she was too shocked to reply.

  Finally she said, “I don’t know what I can say that will make you believe that I’m here for you and only you.” Her lower lip began to tremble. She didn’t know what was worse, that she had told him the truth, or that he did not believe her.

  Kingsley sighed and raked a hand through his dark hair.

  “I thought our former friendship would mean you’d be honest with me.”

  “I am being honest.”

  “So the great Azrael travels to the Kingdom of the Dead for love? Is that it?” His lips curled into a sneer. “That’s why you were going to bond with Abbadon, right? Because of your great love for me?”

  Mimi slapped him hard in the face. “You bastard. I came here for you. You know what, I don’t care anymore. Rot in Hell.”

  Kingsley smiled and wiped his mouth with his shirt cuff.

  “Now, that’s the Azrael I remember.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Plea Bargain

  They starved her.

  There was no more water. No more bread. No more olive oil. Kingsley martin had ceased to perform his small acts of kindness. Charles had not returned to visit her either. She did not know how long she had been left in this room, but Allegra felt the change begin inside her. Since she had started to take the blood regularly, the deep-seated hunger had begun. She needed to drink. To perform the Caerimonia Osculor and take the living blood into her body.

  It looked as if the Venators knew that too, as the next morning brought a knock on the door. “I was told to bring you this,” Nan Cutler said, as she shoved a Red Blood male into the room. “Drink from him. You have gone without for too long.” She thrust the specimen under Allegra’s nose.

  The human boy was gorgeous and looked exactly like Ben: tall and blond and handsome. He had been drugged and he looked at her groggily.

  “No,” Allegra said, feeling disgusted and excited at the same time. She could smell his blood underneath his skin, thick and viscous and so alive—and here she was, so dizzy and thirsty and weak. She could rip his throat and take him, drain him until he was almost at the brink of death. But she held back.

  If she took another familiar, then Ben would cease to be special to her anymore. She knew that was what Charles wanted. The familiar’s bond was strong, but it was diluted by every other Red Blood a vampire took. Charles wanted her to forget about Ben, or at least have someone else in her system.

  He wanted to say to her, This is all he is to you: a vessel for blood. Nothing more.

  “Do it!” Nan said. She pushed Allegra onto the boy, who had fallen to the floor.

  Dear god, she wanted it so much; she wanted to taste him—maybe just a little? Was that so wrong?

  What was she thinking—no. No. She did not want this.

  This was pure torture. She straddled the boy’s chest and bent down, putting her mouth on his neck, her fangs
out and saliv-ating. She was so very hungry.

  But finally she pushed herself away and staggered against the opposite wall, half delirious and her face white as a sheet.

  Charles wanted to turn her into a monster. Wanted to show her that her love was false. That it was a mistake and an illusion. He wanted to show her what they were: fallen angels, cursed by the Lord, feeding on blood to survive. How far they had fallen. How low she had become.

  She would not do this.

  “NO!” she said, more clearly now, as she stood up and crossed her arms. “Take him away from me.”

  “Fine,” Nan said, shrugging. “If you don’t want it, I’ll have him.” The vampire dragged the boy to a far corner and kissed him with her fangs. Soon the loud slurping noise filled the room.

  Allegra felt sick. She’d been in the room for what felt like forty days and forty nights. She had no idea what had happened to Ben, or what Charles was planning, but for now she was certain that Ben was still alive. She knew she would feel it if he were dead.

  He was alive for now, but she did not know how long. Did she trust Charles enough to keep him alive? Or would the pain of her love for Ben be too much for Charles to bear? After all, it was only too easy to break Ben’s neck or drain him to death, or even make it seem like an accident so that she would never know for sure.

  She thought of everything she and Charles had been through together, and wondered how it was that they had come to this. She had left him at the altar, she had humiliated him in front of the Coven—and even now she refused to return to him, as he held all the cards and she had no choices left.

  Why did she resist anyway? What part of her heart believed that she would be able to make her own destiny? She was not meant to be with Ben, she could see that now.

  She was only hurting everyone—her twin, her love, herself, her Coven—by refusing to acknowledge the truth: that she could not have this. There was no escape from an immortal destiny, and this, whatever this was, those golden months in the green valley living as a vintner as if she were nothing but an ordinary girl, was just as false as pretending she did not feel any vestigial love for her immortal mate. She loved Charles, but she could not deny that the love she felt for Ben was much stronger, and deeper to the core of who she was. It was as simple as that.