“I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving here.” He shook his head. His eyes were clear again for a moment. “This is home now.”
Mimi followed Oliver down the stairs. She got her credit card back, and they went out the door. She found she was shivering. How many familiars had she had? Too many to count. Had some of them ended up here when she was finished with them? Had she consigned many to this fate? Had she done this to people? To boys she had used? She hadn’t loved them, but she hadn’t wanted them to end up like this either. She knew she was careless and selfish—but she wasn’t—she didn’t—
“No,” Oliver said. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not like that. Sure, some of us succumb to it, but not all of us. You can fight it. It’s called self-control. Only the weak ones end up here. Or the unlucky. Evan’s vampire disappeared after first blood. That’s when the yearning is the strongest. Once you do it a couple of times, you’re used to it. To the feeling of being incomplete.”
“So—some familiars, they’re okay? Even after they never have it again?” she asked hopefully.
“Sure. Not everyone becomes addicted. It becomes this thing you learn to live with, like a sadness that doesn’t go away.” Oliver shrugged. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”
They stood outside on the dirty sidewalk. Mimi felt like putting a comforting hand on Oliver’s shoulder, but she didn’t know if he would appreciate the gesture. Instead, she said, “You’re never going to end up like him. Don’t even worry about that.”
“I hope not,” Oliver said. “But never say never.”
For a moment, Mimi hated Schuyler Van Alen more than ever, but this time it had nothing to do with Jack.
The Changeling
Florence, 1452
Giovanni Rustici, or Gio, as everyone called him, was the group’s newest Venator, but already one of the best. He was also a fine sculptor, much more talented at the work than Tomi would ever be. In the space of a few months, he was already the Master’s favorite apprentice. Dre was still away; he had some business in Siena, which meant he would not be home for another fortnight. By day, Tomi and Gio worked on the Baptistery doors, and by night, they patrolled the city streets, restless and uneasy.
Tomi confided in Gio that she was worried about the Red Blood connection and what it might entail. “Perhaps it is time we paid our friend the Changeling a visit,” Gio suggested.
The Changeling lived in the sewers of Florence. The creature had not seen daylight in a century, and was shriveled, blind, and wretched. It was too weak to be of any danger to a vampire anymore, and so Andreas had decreed that no one could touch the Croatan, as it was a valuable source of information. In exchange, the Venators let it live. The Changeling had alerted them to the news that one of its kind had infiltrated the palace guard.
The Changeling was not pleased to see them.
Tomi ignored its hisses and drew a symbol on the cave wall. “We found this mark on a human. Tell us what you know.”
Gio prodded the Silver Blood with the tip of his sword. “Answer her, beast, or we shall send you where you belong.”
The Changeling laughed. “I do not fear Hell.”
“There are worse things than the underworld. Your master is sure to be unhappy with you for forsaking him since Rome. If he has returned, he will exact vengeance on the followers who deserted him,” Tomi warned. “Who gave the human the mark? What does it mean?”
Gio battered the creature with a volley of hard blows. “Answer her!”
“I do not know, I do not know!” The Silver Blood cowered. “Only that today, your friend Savonarola was made Cardinal,” it said with a crafty smile.
“And?”
“The good friar is a Silver Blood.”
“He is lying. Savonarola is no Croatan,” Gio scoffed.
Tomi nodded. The Petruvian friar had been a Venator before he entered the clergy.
“He has been Corrupted, turned into Abomination after Trieste,” the Changeling told them. In Trieste, the advance team had been attacked by the hive of Silver Bloods they had been tracking. Still, the Venators had won the day—or so Tomi had always believed.
“Who else knows this?” Gio demanded.
“Andreas del Pollaiuolo,” the Changeling whispered.
TWENTY-ONE
The Regis Doctrine
Endless meetings. Ever since she’d assumed the title of Regent, Mimi felt as if her life was measured out in marathon conference calls and discussions that went nowhere. Today was a school holiday, some sort of teachers’ conference, and in her former life she would have spent the day in the usual comfortable routine: a late brunch followed by a massage, then a leisurely stroll through the boutiques on Madison, stopping only for tea at The Pierre, and then a nap before setting off for dinner at the newest restaurant.
There was no time for such trifles anymore. She spent the day locked in her office, reviewing notes and checking in with her various subcommittees. The Venator team assigned to find Forsyth Llewellyn was the last to check in. While Kingsley’s subvertio kept Leviathan and Lucifer trapped in the underworld, their coconspirators were still at large. The Venators reported a tip that put Forsyth in Argentina, and Mimi agreed to send the team in that direction.
As for Victoria’s fate, Mimi was starting to get worried. They were as much in the dark as they had been on day one, and the moon was waning fast. Soon there would be a new moon on the horizon, its first appearance what the Blue Bloods called the shadow crescent—the sliver in the sky that meant a new dawn was at hand.
Since Sunday night there had been no more strange e-mails, but Mimi found the quiet unsettling. Sam and Ted had every Venator in New York on the case, but it might not be enough. Centuries of war had armed her with an inherent understanding of battle strategy, knowledge of armies and combat—but this was a new danger, clever and unpredictable. She was worried the Blue Bloods were too accustomed to their dominance, overly reliant on force and hammer, that they lacked the talent to address kidnapping and subversion.
Mimi put her head in her hands and thought so hard she worried her brain would explode. She had gone through all the books, looking up the history of the Regis, the history of leadership, actions in time of crisis, studying every decision that had been made to bring their Coven here to this moment. Myles Standish (Michael, Pure of Heart) had promised the Blue Bloods they would find safe haven in the new world, and in doing so had broken away from the European Coven. He had invoked the Regis Doctrine to do so. That was it. Mimi could do the same. She could do something if the Venators failed. Of course she could. There was always an answer. She was not helpless. The Code of the Vampires spelled it out in front of her.
The Regis Doctrine: The Regis or Regent must take every precaution to ensure the safety of the Coven by any means necessary.
It gave Mimi an idea. With the power of the Regis Doctrine, she could take down the wards. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? It was so simple, really. Whoever had taken Victoria was hiding her physical location, masking her signature in the glom. But with the wards down, every Blue Blood would be visible in the spirit world. It would override any masking spell put upon her, and the Venators would be able to pull Victoria out through the glom.
But it was a risk. The wards that protected the Coven concealed their immortal spirits in the glom and kept the sangre azul from the many dangers of the twilight world. Without the wards, they were practically Red Bloods. But it would only be for the briefest moment, Mimi thought—in and out and back again, in the blink of an eye. She would reinstate them the moment they got Victoria back.
She had to try it. If the Venators were unsuccessful, she would take down the wards. She hoped it would not come to that, but if it did, she would be ready. She was not going to let Victoria burn.
Still, even with the danger, Mimi’s life went on. Her social life especially. It would not do to miss too many of the usual engagements on her calendar. The Coven would begin to talk, then worry, then panic,
and she could not have that. There was enough gossip and agitation as it was, from everything that had happened the month before. She would have to calm the troops, show them there was nothing to worry about. They were still Blue Bloods, the enlightened ones, the blessed and the damned.
Tonight was the opening of an opera at Lincoln Center, and her presence was expected. Mimi turned off her computer. She had to go home and change. In her old life she would have relished the opportunity to wear a hot new dress and show off her jewelry. But now she only felt the dread of obligation. She wanted to be hunting for Victoria, in the Repository with Oliver, or in the glom with the Venators. Not going to some stupid society gala.
After their visit to the blood house, Mimi had decided to follow Committee rules concerning the care of human familiars. She’d located her first familiar, Scott Caldwell, now a senior at NYU, who remembered their affair like it was yesterday and was more than happy to squire her to the event. Scott was just the way she liked her familiars: handsome and dumb, and she hoped his complete inability to process his feelings would mean he would never end up at a blood house after she was done with him. He certainly seemed amenable enough, and looked dashing in a tuxedo.
They walked in, already a bit late, Mimi clutching the train on her ball gown so Scott wouldn’t trip on it. She waved to a few familiar faces: the newly bonded Don Alejandro and Danielle Castañeda, who were in from London; there was Muffie Astor Carter, looking serene in blush silk. Helen Archibald, wife to Conclave Elder Josiah Archibald, and one of the Coven’s leading matrons, accosted Mimi on her way down the ramp.
“Madeleine, I saw the Taylors yesterday at the ballet. Gertrude looked like hell. She wouldn’t tell me, but I heard that something terrible has happened, something to do with that awful video my son showed me. What on earth is going on?”
The Venators had warned Mimi that even after the Conspiracy had taken care of neutralizing the threat of exposure from the video, rumors were swirling that the Silver Bloods were behind it, which was creating rumblings of fear among the older families.
“It’s under control,” Mimi soothed. “The Conspiracy’s taken care of it. A few youthful high jinks, just some of the younger committee members getting creative.”
“Well, after what happened at your bonding, maybe disbanding the Coven is something we should consider. Maybe we would be safer . . . not so much a target . . . as before.”
“You would have us go into hiding again?” Mimi snapped. “I don’t know about you, but I like living aboveground.” Since the bonding disaster, there had been whispers among the Coven that perhaps it was time to disband, to go underground. Mimi dismissed it as fearmongering. She had no desire to relive the Dark Ages and was horrified to think that Conclave members would even consider it.
“Spoken like a true dark angel. You don’t care about anything but your own convenience,” Helen sneered. “You’ll put us all in danger. We won’t stand for it.”
Mimi was shocked. She was aware that not everyone in the Coven was happy to have Azrael as their Regent, and that many would never forget nor forgive her and Abbadon for their part in the revolt against the Almighty. Most probably still blamed them for their banishment. But to throw it in her face like this!
“Excuse me,” Mimi said, brushing Helen aside. She’d had enough of the society maven’s rudeness. Inside the auditorium the gongs were ringing, reminding guests to take their seats. She followed Scott toward the orchestra doors when her cell phone rang. Oliver calling.
“What is it?” she said testily. “They’re about to close the doors and you know they don’t do late seating at the Met.”
“Don’t worry. After you hear what I have to tell you, missing the first act will be the least of your concerns.”
TWENTY-TWO
Cabbages And Vines
I think we might have a lock on Victoria’s location,” Oliver said grimly. Since their trip to the blood house, he had received permission from Duchesne to miss class and was back to spending all day and night holed up in the Repository, reviewing the tapes, and had finally found a clue as to where she was being kept hostage.
“Ma’am? Will you be joining us?” the usher asked, looking impatient, with his hand on the double doors while Scott fiddled with his cuff links.
“Hold on,” she told Oliver, weighing the possibility of whispering into her cell phone while the tenor began his aria. But Trinity had raised her too well. Mimi waved her date inside. “Go ahead, I’ve got to take this. I’ll meet you at intermission.”
She walked away from the doors, toward the fountain. “We’ve found her?” she asked, pressing the phone to her ear in hopeful anticipation.
“Not yet. But we’re on our way.”
Mimi glared at the ushers who were shushing her. “Where?”
“The Carlyle Hotel.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
The sidewalk in front of the Carlyle was swarming with Red Bloods. As Mimi walked through the crowd she heard whispers of “bomb threat” and “evacuation.” She flashed her Conclave badge to the security team and entered the newly emptied lobby. Oliver was standing with a group of Venators, who had cleared the area by the elevator.
“Sorry about Parsifal. It’s my favorite opera,” he said as a greeting.
“Where is she?” Mimi snapped. She didn’t have time for Oliver’s clever little commentary right now.
“We think in the penthouse. It’s been rented for the month to some actor, but it’s been empty for weeks, according to the hotel manager.”
“How do you know she’s here?”
“We don’t. We’re just guessing.” Oliver pressed the elevator button for the top floor. “I know the Venators are concentrating on those subliminal images, but I thought maybe we should take a closer look at the main video itself. I watched it frame by frame and found something in the shadows. I had tech magnify part of the screen.”
He showed her the image on his phone.
“What am I looking at here, exactly?” Mimi asked. It looked like a bunch of squiggles and nothing to get excited about. Certainly not enough to clear an entire hotel lobby and disrupt an evening at the prestigious hotel. Wendell Randolph, the Blue Blood tycoon who owned the Carlyle, was surely going to get annoyed. Mimi saw that she had several messages from him already.
“That’s from the wallpaper behind her head. The shine from the Venator rope illuminates it a bit. It’s called Cabbage and Vine. It’s a famous William Morris design, which went out of production in the 1880s. But when this hotel was built in the 1930s, they had the same textile factory produce it for the hotel. After the renovation last year, only a few rooms kept the original wallpaper. We’ve already checked the other two. This is the last one.”
“We’re here because of wallpaper?” Mimi asked. “You guys cleared an entire hotel—used a massive compulsion on all those Red Bloods—because of some wallpaper?” She tried not to sound too incredulous.
“It’s all we’ve got,” Oliver said apologetically. “You said no one dies on your watch. We have to try everything, don’t we?”
The elevator door opened, and Mimi saw Sam and Ted take position in front of a door to the suite. The rest of the team were arranged in the hallway.
“We have a green?” Ted asked.
Mimi didn’t know what to say. At this point they had acted without consulting her, so why adhere to protocol now? It was too late to back out. Maybe it was just courtesy since she had arrived on the scene. It was better than Helen Archibald’s rudeness. She would humor her Venators. “Affirmative.” She nodded. “Go.”
The strike force burst into the room, swarming into the space, setting off glom bombs, their swords held aloft and gleaming.
There was a girl tied up in a chair.
Alas, it was not Victoria.
They had surprised the actor, a movie star, who’d returned the night before with his new girlfriend. At the sight of the black-clad, armored Venators, he dropped a magnum of champagne
and fainted.
TWENTY-THREE
The Pub
After the failure and embarrassment of the Carlyle raid—which Mimi placed directly on Oliver’s shoulders to stave off criticism of her Venators—she met the Lennox brothers at their usual pub the next evening. The night was black, and in less than twenty-four hours the crescent moon would appear in the sky. They were almost out of time. She knew the boys wouldn’t appreciate what she was about to tell them, but she had no choice. She was Regent now; it was her call. She was not about to lose one of their own. She hoped they had good news for her.
The pub had been a speakeasy during the Prohibition, when the Blue Bloods were the only purveyors of alcohol in the city. The place still had its original double doors, the keyhole to peek out, sawdust on the floor, knotted pine benches scarred with the names of friends and enemies.
Venators of all stripes—jolly veterans with worn faces and cigarettes hanging from their bottom lips, and slim new recruits straight out of Langley (the CIA had been founded by a Venator; the original Blue Bloods training center was located in the same area) jostled at tables next to the odd NYU students who’d wandered in and had no idea they were surrounded by the vampire secret police. There was a pool table and dartboard, and a chalkboard behind the bar for recording rounds.
Mimi found Sam sitting in the back booth surrounded by empties, and took a seat across from him. “It’s my shout,” Ted announced, bringing back three pints of dark bitter ale topped with a gold lager. Black and Tans they called them. Mimi didn’t usually like the taste of beer—she preferred martinis or wine—but she also did not feel like making a fuss. She took a sip. Not too bad, really. Not as tangy as blood—she remembered the taste of Kingsley’s blood: sweet and sharp. Her throat constricted and her eyes watered, and for a moment she felt as if she would lose it. But she held herself together.
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