“Another drink?” he offered, and Jack glanced at Schuyler. They both shook their heads. The noise of the party hummed in the distance.
“It’s very kind of you to invite us,” Schuyler said, wishing they’d never come. This whole evening was a set-up. The hospitality was as fake as half the faces and breasts at the party.
“I know you’re here on business rather than pleasure.” Lukas’ smile had frozen on his face. “Perhaps you could explain why?”
“Surely you don’t need an explanation.” Jack looked bemused. “Surely you’ve received word from the European Conclave.”
“Ah yes!” Lukas chuckled. “I hear what they’re saying. That the hard-fought peace we won ten years ago is under threat.”
We won. Schuyler liked that. She didn’t remember Lukas taking part in any of the battles.
“You don’t believe it?” Jack was incredulous. He was trying to keep his voice down, Schuyler knew, but anyone standing nearby was all-too-obviously eavesdropping.
“What to believe, what not to believe,” said Lukas. His golden tan glowed, as fake as his smile. He turned to face Schuyler, staring at her hard. “For example, is it true that your own half-sister is implicated in a plot to revive Lucifer’s power on earth?”
“You know as much as we do,” Schuyler said. Two could play his disingenuous game. “Clearly you think that something is worthy of investigation.”
“There’s nothing to link any of this to the coven in Sweden,” Lukas said. He looked around the room for support, his expression theatrical, as though he’d forgotten the assembled Blue Bloods were locked out of the room. “Not a shred of evidence. Just some wolves howling about nothing, from what I hear.”
“Let’s discuss this at another time,” Jack said. “When we all have more facts at our disposal.”
He sat his glass on the desk and looked at Schuyler, one eyebrow arched. Time to go. It was fine with her. Their own Blue Bloods in New York could be snobby, but they wouldn’t behave so badly to visitors. Especially not someone like Jack Force. Do you know who you’re talking to? she wanted to shout. This is Abbadon, twin Angel of the Apocalypse, not some roaming wolf!
“Here in Sweden,” Lukas was saying, strolling about the room like an actor wandering the stage, always conscious of the spotlight, “our Coven members enjoy the highest standard of living of any Coven in the world. We have an enviable position, Mr. Force. Every other Coven in Europe aspires to our lifestyle, and to the peace we’ve enjoyed for the past decade.”
“Well,” said Jack, tight-lipped, “we all want that to continue, don’t we?”
Lukas wasn’t smiling now.
“Your arrival here, with your beautiful wife,” he said, nodding in Schuyler’s direction, “is over-doing it, wouldn’t you say? Scaring people. Sending the wrong message.”
“We receive messages,” Schuyler told him, aware of the iciness of her tone. The slickness of Lukas, and the way he’d hijacked this so-called welcome party, enraged her. “We don’t send them.”
His smile returned, patronizing this time.
“And who is sending these messages, my dear? Could it be the New York Regis, who is, after all, your husband’s twin and former bondmate?”
Schuyler felt her face glowing red. She’d been away from the Blue Bloods too long. She’d forgotten about the games some of them liked to play, the jockeying for social position and influence.
“Could this be, perhaps, a political ploy on the part of your Regis,” Lukas continued, “to draw attention away from the ongoing mismanagement in New York? I’m referring, of course, to the thoughtless and criminal actions of your last Regent, Oliver Hazard-Perry. I believe he was your former human Conduit, Mrs. Force, was he not?”
“This is ridiculous.” Schuyler didn’t have time to reply, because a furious Jack had stepped forward. He had a much shorter fuse these days, and Lukas was just provoking him. “You can’t blame any of what’s happened – and what’s happening now – on Schuyler. Or even on Oliver, for that matter. Finn Chase drank Silver Blood poison, willingly and knowingly. She was using Oliver, trying to destroy the whole Coven. We know all this for a fact. We have the confession of our former Venator chief, Sam Lennox, who was complicit in the whole thing.”
“Conveniently dead now, isn’t he?” Lukas smirked. Schuyler could see how his arrogance was inflaming Jack. She tugged on his arm. They needed to go back to the hotel right away. “And Finn Chase – disappeared. Oliver Hazard-Chase – also disappeared. All your New York problems gone, just like that. Pfft!”
He wriggled his fingers as though he were sprinkling fairydust.
“And now you’re trying to make them European problems, without any proof.”
“Your own Venator chief here in Sweden thinks differently,” Jack snapped. Lukas rolled his eyes.
“Venators report to me. I am the Regis. Your New York Venators might go rogue, but here my word is the law. And I am an actual Blue Blood, unlike Oliver Hazard-Chase.” Lukas practically spat out the name. “So the Coven can trust me. Absolutely. We don’t intermarry here, you’ll find.”
He glanced at Schuyler for the briefest moment, but she noticed, and so did Jack.
There was a tap on the door and Pernilla appeared, opening the door just wide enough to wriggle in.
“I thought our guests might like something to eat,” she said. Lukas glared at her.
“I’m just explaining the way we do things here in Scandinavia,” he said. “How we don’t allow former Conduits to take control of our Coven, or their Human Familiars, for that matter.”
The look on Lukas’ face was one of utter contempt, but Pernilla seemed embarrassed. Jack reached for Schuyler’s hand. She wanted to stalk out of this party, kick every piece of Gustav-the-Whatever furniture on the way out, and she knew Jack did as well.
“Well,” Jack said, clear and controlled. “Your word may be law within your own Coven, but Schuyler Van Alen and I are not your subjects. And without us, your Coven would not have enjoyed any kind of peace over the last ten years. Without us, Lucifer would be dictating your lifestyle. In fact, you might not have lifestyle, or life, at all. He would have wiped out your Coven, one by one.”
Pernilla flushed pink and even Lukas seemed lost for words.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Jack said, and this seemed to prod Pernilla into action. She walked towards them, a limpid hand extended.
“Thank you so much for coming this evening,” she said, beaming as though they’d all had a wonderful time. “You must visit us in the countryside. For Midsummer?”
Schuyler was so astounded that all she could do was stare. In the car home, still shaking with anger, she turned to Jack. He was holding her hand but glaring out the window, as upset and enraged as she was.
“For Midsummer!” she said, and they both burst out laughing.
15 | Prowling
It was late, so late the sun had set, and there was still no sign of Ara. Edon wasn’t surprised, not entirely, but he wasn’t happy either. At least she hadn’t run off back to New York, because her stuff was still here, black tanks and jeans strewn around the bedroom in her usual manner.
“She’ll come back,” Mina predicted, slurping instant Pot Noodles at the dining room table. She’d added raw mince to it. And people said he was uncivilized. “She’s in love with you, she doesn’t know anyone else in the city, and all her stinky gear is still here.”
“She might not come home tonight, though.” Edon paced the floor, aware of the boards creaking with every step.
“She might get lucky, you mean?” Mina snorted and rattled her take-out chopsticks in the plastic pot. “Not unless she had a shower before she went out. Really, she smelled ripe. And in a country with so many real blondes, is anyone buying her platinum schtick?”
“Be quiet,” growled Edon. “You don’t know her. She’s a great Venator.”
“A great Venator … on forced leave.” Mina gazed up at him, disbelief in her eyes. “Tha
t sounds like a vampire who’s messed up to me. Though I know, I know. They’re all mess-ups, the fallen. Trying to get back into Paradise, if only God will have them. Atoning for their sins! Poor little Blue Bloods!”
Mina gave an exaggerated sigh then returned her attention to the mound of raw mince. Edon felt even more agitated now. Ara didn’t have any Venator weapons with her, which made her vulnerable. He wasn’t sure how she felt about Mina showing up; he wasn’t sure how she felt about anything right now. He and Mina had their marching orders: they were leaving for Dalarna in the morning, and he needed to talk to Ara before they left. She had decisions to make: was she going to find somewhere to stay in Stockholm? Because she couldn’t stay in this Venator apartment without him, given that she wasn’t supposed to be here at all.
Or – his preference – would she come with him to the countryside? He’d make sure that wherever they were staying had two bedrooms. That Mina/Ara roommate arrangement was going to cause major trouble, if he knew Mina – and if he knew Ara.
“You gonna prowl around this apartment all night pining for your angel?” Mina mocked him.
“I told you to be quiet.”
“Come on, softie.” Mina dropped her chopsticks. She sprang to her feet, still as lithe and supple as she was ten years ago. He wished he could say the same for himself. “There’s no point in waiting here for her. You know what the fallen are like – always getting into trouble. Let’s go track her down.”
“Really?” Edon was surprised.
“Sure. I’m not completely heartless, whatever you might think.” She threw him an arch look. “And I know we can’t leave for the countryside tomorrow with her stuff still here. I’m not dragging all those stinky black clothes around Sweden with me. And I know your bags are full of hair product and designer underwear.”
“Thanks,” he said softly.
“My money’s on her being somewhere in Södermalm,” Mina said, retying her sleek ponytail. “You said she lives in Williamsburg, right? She won’t be able to resist the hipster vibe.”
Ara would have been disgusted by the hipster branding, but Edon thought Mina was right: Södermalm was a good base for their search. Trouble was, it was also a good base for dozens of the clubs and bars in Stockholm. Mina was an expert at skipping lines and befriending bouncers: there was something about wolves that made Red Bloods wary and respectful, some innate authority or aggression, maybe. Edon had a photo of Ara on his phone to flash at bouncers and barmen, hoping she had distinctive enough a look –blunt cheekbones, searing eyes and platinum crop – to have made an impression.
One bearded, tattooed bouncer shook his head when he looked at the picture.
“Haven’t seen her in here tonight,” he said. “But maybe she’s already left for Dalarna.”
“Why Dalarna?” Mina practically jumped on him, breathing fire. “Why would you say that?”
“Everyone goes there about now. All the club kids. Dalarna is where the best midsummer raves happen, in the forests. You know, the sun never really sets at this time of year. The night is one long twilight. Everyone goes kinda crazy.”
“Anywhere in particular?” Edon asked. He hoped Ara hadn’t taken off on a hunch – or worse, in the back of some stranger’s car. The bouncer shrugged.
“The forest,” he said, with a vague wave of one hand. The word “galen” was tattooed across his right knuckles. Edon tapped it into his phone, just in case there was something significant about it, but all “galen” meant was crazy.
“Ask some of the kids in here,” he told them. “Or in any club. They’ll know the best places, or the ones with a lot of buzz this year. Maybe checkout some of the clubs off Stureplan? You might find your friend there. And someone will tell you the place to be in Dalarna this midsummer, for sure.”
Stureplan, they discovered was a square in Östermalm, a more upmarket area of the city on the far side of the old town. Edon and Mina jumped into a cab and named the neighborhood.
“Where do you want to go?” the driver asked, a Sikh in a green turban who spoke good English, like everyone else they’d encountered in Stockholm. “Spy Bar? Sturecompagniet? Or that new place – the Bank?”
Something about the Bank sounded familiar to Edon. He thought there might have been a club in New York with that name once upon a time, the kind of place young Blue Bloods flocked to make themselves seem cool.
“Yeah, take us there. The new place.”
“It may be a little… ah, too young for you,” the driver advised, and Mina rolled her eyes.
“Thanks,” she said. “Thanks a lot.”
“It’s only been open a few weeks and they say it’s closing after Midsummer. Like a pop-up club – is that what you call it?”
“It is indeed,” Mina said, sounding sniffy. She was still annoyed about the age comment.
Stureplan felt more like an intersection than a square, big avenues merging, taxis veering, and people spilling out of street-side restaurants and bars, dressed – Edon thought – like wealthy drunk people everywhere: flimsy clothes, heels too high, iPhones and cigarettes waving around, a lot of shrieking and laughing. The driver sped past a weird giant mushroom sculpture and down one of the big streets that fed the square, the lurched to a halt outside a tall stone building. A meandering line of would-be clubbers stretched down the street, only the first fifty or so contained by the red velvet rope.
“Good luck getting in!” he said, Mina slamming the door extra hard to let him know what she thought of his advice.
“We’ll just talk to the bouncers and move on,” she muttered to Edon.
“We should take a look inside,” he said. “This may be a Blue Bloods club. We may get some other intel in there.”
The wolves marched straight up to one of the bouncers, dressed in black with a giant diamond-stud earring. Mina flicked him the fake Swedish police ID they’d been provided, very thoughtfully, by Axel.
“Anyone seen this woman?” he asked all the bouncers, showing them Ara’s picture. Nobody had. “We need to go in.”
The bouncer with the diamond stuf swung open the rope without saying a word, though the people waiting were vocal in their complaints.
“Hey! We’ve been waiting for over an hour,” moaned one guy with a man bun and a snake tattooed on his neck. Edon had to resist the urge to elbow him in the gut. He hated man buns.
Like its New York counterpart, the club was housed in what looked like an old bank, though it was hard to make sense of its architecture and layout with the pulsating lights and throng of people on the massive dance floor or pressing up to one of the bars. The DJ was shouting something in Swedish about Dalarna, and Edon grabbed a passing waif, her blonde hair longer than her leather skirt, to ask her what the guy was saying.
“He’s saying, see you in Dalarna!” she shouted. “Woo! Midsummer!”
She wriggled out of Eden’s grip and disappeared into the writhing crowd on the dance floor. If Ara was in here, she’d be impossible to spot. Mina might be annoyed by age comments, but Edon knew this was not his scene. The throb of the music, its electronic chirrups, was giving him a headache. Why did they think they could find her anywhere in this strange city? And why the hell hadn’t she come back to the apartment?
Mina was breathing into his ear, dragging some poor blond guy by his t-shirt.
“Hey, old man!” she shouted. “This kid says he knows the best place to go in Dalarna.”
“Yeah, for sure,” the guy said, and Edon leaned closer to catch everything he was saying. “This year, it’s the White Queen’s rave. That’s what everyone is saying.”
“Who’s everyone?” Mina looked skeptical, but she flashed Edon a significant look. The White Queen.
“Oh, you know,” said their informer, tugging his t-shirt free of Mina’s grasp. “Everyone. It’s going to be massive, you know? Massive.”
“Where in Dalarna?”
“Hey, you should …” The blond guy glanced around, scratching his head. “One of t
he organizers is here. You should talk to him.”
“What’s his name?” Mina demanded.
“I don’t know.” The blond guy sounded agitated now, Edon noticed. Maybe he was afraid he’d said too much. “But I just saw him up at the rooftop bar. He’s wearing a purple shirt. You can’t miss him.” The guy jabbed at a staircase Edon hadn’t even noticed yet, and then slithered away before Mina could grab him again.
They had to tread on people lolling on the stairs, and push past groups blocking the way up in chattering clusters. A bouncer on the third floor landing held out a hand to stop them, but Mina flashed her ID again and he let them pass. There were fewer people standing around on the stairs now, and Edon got a strong Blue Bloods vibe from them, a faint scent of recognition. Mina bounded ahead, sleek ponytail swinging, still looking as good in her jeans as she always had. Damn, Edon thought: he needed to keep his mind on the job. Ara was enough of a handful without adding Mina, and all their old wild times, into the mix.
The door to the rooftop bar was ajar, but the sprawling terrace was empty. Lights twinkled along the deserted bar counter, and glasses and bottles were crowded on low tables next to more than a dozen empty sofas. There was something eerie about it, as though the place had just been evacuated and everything – drinks, conversations, work – had been abruptly abandoned. No guy in a purple shirt emerged from the gloom. There was no one anywhere. Just the evening breeze, and the sounds of busy traffic, and club-goers whooping in the street below.
Mina looked at Edon, eyes narrowed.
“What the …?” she said.
Edon didn’t reply. He pulled out his knife and moved left, Mina instinctively moving right to case the terrace. But their eyes weren’t deceiving them. There was no one hiding, no one in the shadows. The rooftop bar was empty. Why it was empty, and so suddenly, and where everyone had gone, was another matter.
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