Kingsley walked Mimi to her room. “So I understand this is good-bye, then?”
“Yeah, well.”
He lingered at the doorway. “It was good of you to come.
It was nice seeing you again, Force. Come see me again sometime if you’re ever in the neighborhood.”
Smart aleck. He knew they would never see each other again. She had come to Hell chasing a dream, and now it was time to wake up. Her Coven needed her; she had wasted enough time. Mimi knew this was good-bye, but she did not know how to say it—did not know if she had it in her not to break down if it went on too long. So she just gave him a little shrug and began to turn away. Then she remembered. “Oh, I might as well return this.” She reached into her pocket and brought out a small rabbit’s foot key chain. She had found it among his possessions and had held on to it, remembering the way he used to twirl it around; the way he would toss it in the air and catch it.
“I lost this in New York,” he said. It had been special to him: it had brought him luck again and again, he’d told her once. He’d held a certain perverse affection for the ugly thing.
“I know. I found it.”
“You kept this? All this time?”
“It reminded me of you.” She shrugged. She’d kept it thinking it might be a sign that she would see him again.
He was still looking at it with wonderment, and all Mimi wanted to do was disappear into her room as quickly as possible. This whole ordeal had been agonizing.
“Wait,” he said hoarsely, and reached for her hand.
She laced her fingers through his and gave it a good shake to let him know there were no hard feelings. They were friends. That’s all she ever seemed to have. Friends. She had enough of those.
His hand was still gripping hers. She tried to pull away, but he just tightened his hold on her, and it was then that she felt the first flower of hope bloom in her heart. But she did not want to go down that road again. That road led to nowhere.
And still Kingsley did not let go.
It was as if they were rooted to that spot, frozen in time.
Finally, Mimi dared to look up.
When she did, she saw that there were tears running down his beautiful face. And when their eyes met, it was as if his whole spirit crumbled; as if seeing the worn rabbit’s foot had reminded him of something—their time together in New York, perhaps—or maybe it had finally convinced him that she had come down to Hell for him after all. But whatever it was, the arrogant façade broke, and he surrendered to the love that he had been feeling all this time; the love that he had been hiding behind an arrogant, indifferent veneer.
But instead of feeling triumphant that Kingsley had told her the truth at last, and was showing her the true nature of his heart now that they were saying good-bye forever—instead of feeling justified and victorious, Mimi just felt tenderness for him, and protective.
“Of course I missed you,” he whispered. “How could I forget…”
“Kingsley,” she said, but he had already pulled her toward him, and this time she did not push him away.
THIRTY-SIX
The Prisoner
Allegra felt dizzy. She had no idea how long it had been since she had seen sunlight, how long since the Venators had stormed the place, how long since she had been imprisoned in the wine cellar. What was happening to Ben? Where had they taken him? What was going on with the vineyard, she wondered. The staff would worry, wouldn’t they? Surely Ben’s family was looking for them? Red Bloods were not completely devoid of resources.
She did not understand why Charles had not accepted her offer. She had groveled at his feet and begged for Ben’s life, but her twin had merely knelt down and gently removed her hands from his ankles. He had placed her back on the chair and then left.
Allegra was exhausted. She did not know what would happen next, and she let Charles back into her mind so she could send him hopeless, anxious messages through the glom, begging and pleading with him, telling him she would do whatever he wanted. But Charles did not answer this time.
She would not be forgiven, she thought. She had pushed him too far, he would never return to her, it was too late. He was bent on revenge. Who knew what he would do to her, or to Ben.
Finally, sometime after she had begged Charles for Ben’s life, the door to the wine cellar opened with a creak. But it wasn’t Charles or any of his Venators who strode inside.
“Oh hey, didn’t see you there,” Ben said, looking surprised as he took a bottle of wine off a lower shelf.
Allegra blinked her eyes, not quite sure this was real.
“Ben? Is it really you? You’re all right?”
He smiled. “You missed me that much? I just got back from the store.”
No one had taken him. No one had threatened him. He didn’t even know that any time had passed. Allegra realized with a shock that everything that had happened to her was in the glom, in the twilight world where time did not act in the same fashion. While it seemed as if months had passed, it was only a few hours in the real world.
Ben was wearing the same clothes from the last time she’d seen him: a red flannel shirt, dirty jeans, and work boots. “Henderson’s wants to place an order for another wheel of your cheese. If we’re not careful, we won’t have a vineyard anymore but a cheese cave,” he said as he pulled another bottle. “Thought it might be time to try the eighty-eight Syrah.” He looked up at her with a smile, but his expression changed when he saw her haunted face. “Legs… is something wrong? You’re looking at me funny.”
She shook her head and patted his arm. “No, I think I’m claustrophobic. I couldn’t find the bottle I was looking for, and I panicked from being down here too long. I’ll be all right.”
They walked up the stairs, back to the tasting room together.
Ben kissed Allegra on the forehead and returned to his studio to paint. She couldn’t quite accept that she was truly free, and was shocked to find that he had never been in any danger, that she had been wrong. Of course Charles would never do such a thing as harm a Red Blood. The pretty oak-paneled room was almost empty, save for one customer sitting on a far stool: Kingsley martin. He was nonchalantly reading a newspaper. He looked like any local, just another resident who’d come by to taste the new reds. Allegra approached him hesitantly. “What’s going on?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Kingsley smiled that crooked smile of his. “You’re free to go. I just thought I’d have a drink before I left; see if the cabernet lives up to the hype.”
“Why?” she asked. She wasn’t talking about the wine.
“Charles’s orders.”
“Where is Charles?”
Kingsley shrugged. “Didn’t say. Probably back in New York.” Everything had happened in the glom, and Charles had never even set foot in California.
“So what happens now?” Allegra asked.
The Venator laid down his newspaper. “The way I see it, nothing. I mean, I don’t think you have anything to worry about anymore. As for the bond—that’s up to you and Charles.
But between you and me, I think he’s done.”
Kingsley swirled the wine in his glass and took a long sip.
He tasted it for a moment, letting it cover his tongue. “Alas, taste buds never do come back once you have Croatan blood. I can’t even smell it. Is it good?”
“We’ve had no complaints,” Allegra said.
“I’m sure. Hope you don’t think too badly of us. We didn’t have a choice, you know. We only do what the Regis wants us to.”
Allegra nodded and began to wipe down the counter.
Kingsley read the paper and drank his wine. A thought occurred to her, and she asked suddenly, “Did you guys ever find out what happened with those diseased familiars?”
“What familiars?”
“Charles mentioned that the Red Bloods were dying of some new affliction and that a few of the Wardens were concerned since the disease looked like it was affecting new Committee members.”
“Forsyth knows.”
“Probably his operation, then.” Kingsley nodded.
Allegra found it curious that Charles had not told his lead Venator. Perhaps the threat of the disease had proven to be in-consequential, just as she had thought. She slumped against the counter, holding her head in her hands. She could feel the emotional exhaustion of the ordeal begin to take its toll. She felt as if she had just gotten off a roller coaster, and was drained and relieved in equal measure.
“Oh, before I forget, Charles wanted you to have this.”
Kingsley slid over an envelope.
She tore it open. There was a ring inside. It was a bonding ring. The ring she presented him with in every lifetime. He was returning it to her.
It appears I am not the one this is meant for, Charles had written.
Allegra felt her stomach fall at the pain behind those words. She would keep the ring, she thought, but she would not give it to Ben. She would fashion a new one to mark her fi-delity. But she would hold on to the ring as a memento of her former love, her former life.
“Thank you,” Allegra said. Thank you, Charles.
In the end, Charles could not bring himself to kill his rival. He couldn’t kill Ben, and he had never threatened him.
There was never any real danger. Ben had no idea. Allegra felt profoundly grateful. The return of the ring meant she would be free of her bond, free to be with the boy she loved. There would be no blood trial, she was sure of it. Charles would never call one against her. The return of the ring said as much.
She slipped it into her pocket. “What else can I get you, Kingsley? On the house.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
An Impossible Choice
It was a difficult thing to lie to your beloved, Jack thought.
He did not want her to see how deeply he had been affected by the events that had transpired that evening. It was only through luck that Schuyler had emerged from the underworld unharmed. There was no way he was going to let her out of his sight again, as much as he could help it.
“I’m okay, don’t worry about me,” Schuyler told him, walking out of the bathroom dressed in a baggy T-shirt and jeans. Catherine had offered to lend her some clothes, and Schuyler had taken the opportunity to wash up as well, scrub-bing her face free of makeup so that her face shone. “I would never let anything happen,” she said, and with a small, shy smile, she patted her belly. She had yet to tell him, but she’d told him everything in that smile.
It was as Jack had feared. Dear god, she thinks she carries my child. His heart broke a little at this, and as they walked to the table together he wanted to tell her right then that this was not a possibility—not for him, not for the two of them. It was never in their future. It could not be. It would never be. The angels were not given the gift of creating new life. Schuyler was not pregnant. She was sick. The bond was destroying her, eating her inside and out. The vomiting, the bile, and the blood: it was the sign of the Wasting Disease.
Allegra had fallen into a coma a few years after she’d broken her bond, and before she’d lost consciousness she’d displayed the signs of this same disease. Jack had seen her files, had read the symptoms—they were the same as the ones Schuyler displayed: nausea, vomiting, blood. He’d believed the bond would destroy him, would weaken him, but this was so much worse. The bond was destroying his beloved, just as it had claimed Allegra. The Bond Would Claim Its Own.
But Jack kept his feelings to himself. This was his problem, his darkness that he had brought to her life, and he would take care of it. He had already asked for so much in asking her to love him.
“Does anyone want more tea?” Catherine asked. After dis-closing the truth about the Petruvians, conversation had dropped, although the gatekeeper did not seem perturbed by their reactions. In her mind, she was carrying out the work of her Regis, orders of the Archangel, and was far from at fault.
But Jack had other things on his mind than the Nephilim.
“Tea?” Catherine asked again.
“Yes,” he said quickly.
“I’ll get it,” Schuyler offered, standing up and walking to the kitchen.
Jack was glad for the opportunity to have a word alone with Catherine. But the gatekeeper spoke first.
“You know, your sister was here. I saw her descend into Helda’s kingdom,” Catherine said with a conspiratorial smile.
“When?”
Catherine named a date, and it was roughly the same time they had arrived in Cairo, Jack thought. “I want to speak to you about Azrael,” he said.
Catherine nodded. She looked pointedly at the bonding ring he wore on his finger. It was not one worn by the Fallen.
It was man-made, a human ring, ordinary. “Of course. You seek to break your bond. To free your love from Gabrielle’s fate, I imagine?”
“Yes.” He looked tired and sad, but there was a flash of hope in his eyes. “You were there when the bond was made.
You know what I am up against. Can you help me? Tell me, is there any other way?”
Catherine wiped her mouth with a napkin and did not answer.
Jack continued to press his case. “Because I do not want to kill my sister. It is the only way to stop her. The blood trial will mean only one of us is left standing. But I cannot bring her harm. I will not have her death on my hands. But I don’t want her to kill me or my… my wife.” At the mention of his mate, his face softened with love.
Catherine sighed. “The only way to end a bond is to serve a task of allegiance to the one who consecrated it. He alone can unmake what was made. Who sealed your fate?” From Jack’s troubled face, Catherine knew the answer. “Your former master. Well then, you know what you have to do. Find Lucifer and offer him your services in return for an Unmaking.”
“Is that my only choice? Serve Lucifer or kill Azrael?”
She nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Then it must be,” he said, and his face was full of sorrow; for even though he did not love her anymore, Azrael was part of him. But if he had to destroy her to keep Schuyler alive, he would do what he had to do.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Angel Heart
Shemeltedintohisarms,butitwasKingsleywhokissedher first; and when their lips met, Mimi closed her eyes, every sense in her body tingling. It was as if she had never been kissed, as if they were kissing each other for the first time. His lips were soft against hers, and when she opened her mouth to him, they fell on each other hungrily, and pressed against each other with a passion that eclipsed every prior emotion, along with every kiss that had come before. If Mimi ever doubted his love, she was sure of it now. She folded her legs around him as his strong arms carried her into her room, and he kicked the door closed behind them.
He slammed her against the wall, putting his entire weight on her body, crushing her. She was breathless with desire, but she was still Mimi Force, and so when he moved to kiss her neck, she pulled at the roots of his hair so that she could bring her mouth to his ear. “Took you long enough,” she snarled.
“I didn’t want…” He tried to finish his sentence but inhaled sharply instead.
It was all right. She held him close, gently petting the fine hair at the back of his neck. Kingsley was afraid. He was so very afraid that his entire body was trembling.
Mimi soothed him and held him tightly. “I was only teasing.”
Kingsley closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. “I never thought to dream that you would come for me. I never expected to see you again. When I saw you at the club, I couldn’t believe it. I still don’t believe you’re really here.” He gritted his teeth. “I didn’t think you were here for me. I thought you had to be here for something else. I didn’t realize…”
Mimi almost laughed. All this time they had been playing a game of their own making. Kingsley was just like her—he’d harbored the same doubts she had—because when h
e’d done the rough mathematics of their relationship, he too had noticed that they had never once told each other what they felt. If he had never said the words, had never revealed the true pas-sionate nature of his heart, then neither had she.
She cupped his face with her hands and looked deep into his eyes. Gone was the arrogant heartthrob, the smooth crime boss, the ageless Venator, the immovable Duke of Hell. There was only Kingsley martin: just a boy in love with a girl. In love with her.
“I love you,” he said, over and over, as he kissed her face, her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her neck, her shoulders. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Mimi said the same: their voices blending together in a chorus. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” as if making up for all those times it had gone unsaid, when they had kept it from the other.
They were still kissing when his hands slipped under her shirt, and she smiled to think that even as vulnerable as he was now, he was still Kingsley. “Can I help you with that?” she asked. She moved to let him pull it over her head, and then she was the one frantically helping him undress, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, because now she wanted to feel him—his skin on her skin—so much that it was almost a panic. She needed him and wanted him now.
Kingsley carried her to the bed, laid her on the covers, and they helped each other remove the rest of their clothing, smiling shyly at each other, and then he was lying on top of her and kissing her again.
“You are so beautiful,” he said.
“Even among all the virago and sirens you have here?
Don’t tell me you’ve been faithful. Not Kingsley martin,” she teased, nipping at his neck.
“It was easy. None of them were you.”
She placed her hands on his flat stomach, tracing his fine abdominal muscles and shivering at the scars on his skin. He looked as if he had been flayed: there were great ridges of seared, scarred flesh crisscrossing his torso and back.
“What happened?” she asked, feeling tears come to her eyes at the damage and pain he had sustained.
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