Blue Bloods: Keys to the Repository

From her summers sailing on Nantucket, Schuyler knew that an ordinary man would have used a motor winch to set the seven-hundred-pound anchor; but of course Jack was far from ordinary. He pulled harder, using almost all of his strength, and all eight tons of the Countess’s yacht seemed to flex for a moment. This time, the anchor held, wedged into the rocky bottom. Jack relaxed and dropped the rope, and Schuyler moved from the helm to help him twine it around the base of the winch. In the past month they had each found quiet solace these small tasks. It gave them something to do while they plotted their escape.

For while Isabelle of Orleans had welcomed them to the safety of her home, once upon a time, in another lifetime, she had been Lucifer’s beloved, Drusilla, sister-wife to the emperor Caligula. True, the Countess had been more than generous toward them; she had blessed them with every comfort—the boat in particular was fully staffed and bountifully stocked. Yet it was becoming clearer each day that the Countess’s offer of protection was morphing quickly from asylum to confinement. They were as far from finding the Gate of Promise as they had been when they left New York.

The Countess had given them everything except what they needed most: freedom. Schuyler did not believe that Isabelle, who had been a great friend to Lawrence and Cordelia, and one of the most respected vampire dowagers of European society, was a Silver Blood traitor; but after Forsyth Llewellyn’s treachery in New York, anything seemed possible. In any event they couldn’t afford to wait and find out if the Countess was planning to keep them prisoners in perpetuity.

Schuyler glanced shyly at Jack. They had been together a month now, but everything was still so new—his touch, his voice, his companionship, the easy feel of his arm around her shoulders. She stood beside him against the rail, and he looped his arm around her neck, pulling her closer so he could plant a quick kiss on the top of her head. She liked those kisses the most, found a deep contentment in the confident way he held her. They belonged to each other now.

Maybe this was what Allegra had meant, Schuyler thought, when she told her daughter to come home and stop fighting, stop fleeing from finding her own happiness. Maybe this was what her mother wanted her to understand.

Jack lowered his arm from her shoulder and she followed his gaze to the small rowboat “the boys” were lowering from the stern onto the choppy water below. They were a jolly duo, two Italians, Drago and Iggy (short for Ignazio), Venators in service to the Countess and for all intents and purposes, their jailors. But Schuyler had come to like them almost as friends. The thought of what she and Jack were about to do set her nerves on edge. They would not get another chance. She marveled at Jack’s calm demeanor; she herself could barely keep still, and was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in anticipation.

She followed Jack to the edge of the platform. Iggy had tethered the little boat to the yacht, and Drago reached forward to help Schuyler step down. But Jack slipped ahead and brushed Drago aside so he could offer Schuyler his palm instead, ever the gentleman. She held his hand as she climbed over the rail and into the boat. Drago shrugged and steadied the boat as Iggy brought the last of the provisions onto the bow.

Schuyler turned to look closely at the rugged Italian coast for the first time. Ever since they had learned of the Venator’s affinity for the Cinque Terre, they had been advocating for this little day trip. The Cinque Terre was a strip of the Italian Riviera populated by a series of five medieval towns. Iggy, with his broad face and fat belly, spoke longingly of his memories of running along the paths at the cliff’s edge before coming home to outdoor dinners overlooking sunsets above the bay.

She had never been to this part of Italy and did not know too much about it—but she understood how they could use Iggy’s affection for his hometown to their advantage. He had not been able to resist their suggestion to visit, and allowed them a day ashore, off their floating prison. It was the perfect spot for what they had planned, as trails ended in ancient stairs that stretched upward for hundreds of feet. The paths would be abandoned this time of year—tourist season was over as fall brought cold weather to the popular resort towns. The mountain trails would lead them far from the ship.

“You are going to love this place, Jack,” Iggy said, rowing vigorously. “You too, Signorina,” he said. The Italians had a difficult time pronouncing “Schuyler.”

Jack grunted, pulling on his oar, and Schuyler tried to affect a festive air. They were supposed to be getting ready to enjoy a picnic. Schuyler noticed Jack brooding, staring at the sea, preparing himself for the day ahead, and she swatted his arm playfully. This was supposed to be a long-awaited respite from their time on the ship, a chance to spend a day exploring.

They were supposed to look like a happy couple with not a care in the world, not like two captives about to execute a prison break.





TWO



The Getaway