Gates of Paradise (a Blue Bloods Novel)

“Am I? I didn’t notice,” he said, giving her a sheepish grin.

For a moment Bliss was keenly reminded of the night they’d spent together, when they had almost…well. No point in thinking of that now. It was just a mistake anyway. Lawson had been mourning Tala, the mate he had lost, and Bliss had been too drunk to truly understand what was happening. They were friends, and that’s all they were going to be. She decided not to press. What was more annoying than a girl who wanted everything spelled out? What’s going on with us? How do you feel about me? She cringed at the thought that she could be so needy.

So instead she filled the time by telling him about vampire society, about the Committee meetings, the life cycles of rest and reincarnation, the Covens and the Conduits, and Schuyler’s quest to protect the Gates of Hell from the threat of the Silver Blood demons.

“I know it’s a lot to lay on you right now,” she said.

“The better I understand what’s going on, the more helpful I can be,” he replied. “Don’t worry, I like listening to you.”

She smiled at him but didn’t want to let herself think that everything would go back to normal—what was normal, anyway?—but it was comforting to know that maybe they could resume their friendship.

“So what’s our strategy?” he asked, as they drove through Pennsylvania.

“First, we go to Schuyler’s house, see if she’s there. She probably won’t be, but it’s worth a shot. Then we go to Oliver’s.”

“Her Conduit, right?”

He’d been paying attention. “He used to be, anyway. That’s a whole other story, and not worth getting into right now. Last I heard, he was serving as Conduit for Mimi Force.”

“Jack’s twin. I’m starting to catch on, I think.”

They drove the rest of the way without speaking, listening to the radio. A year didn’t change much, Bliss thought. Most of the songs were the same ones she’d heard before, and the new ones sounded just like the old ones.

When they reached Manhattan, Bliss directed Lawson to the Upper West Side. She noted with some amusement that Lawson’s driving seemed to be getting more cautious now that he was around the aggressive New York City taxi drivers.

“Okay, just double-park in front of that building,” she said, pointing to an elegant, if slightly shabby, mansionette on Riverside Drive. “We can always move the car if Schuyler’s here.”

“Are you sure? What if we get a ticket?” he asked, but he did as she suggested. Quite a change of pace—she was used to either being in Lawson’s world or in a place neither of them was familiar with. Here she was at home, and it felt good to be in charge.

No surprise to find Schuyler not at home. The brownstone was shuttered, the curtains drawn, and the place looked as if it had been abandoned. Bliss directed Lawson to the Upper East Side, and going crosstown took almost an hour in the early evening traffic. “That was hell,” he grumbled.

“Welcome to New York,” Bliss said with a smile. “They say the subway’s faster, but…”

“Don’t tell me: you’ve never taken it. Lifestyles of the rich and famous,” he teased.

“Well, I’ve never been in a Hyundai, that’s for sure.”

They left the car in front of Oliver’s building and went inside. The doorman must have been on a smoke break, because the desk was vacant.

“Should we wait?” Lawson asked.

Bliss just grabbed his arm and went to the elevator, then pressed the button for the penthouse. She’d only been to Oliver’s place a couple of times, but it was hard to forget. Lavish even for New York, it took up the top three stories of the building. Oliver had his own floor, complete with the game room that had made going to his house so popular with Schuyler and Dylan.

Dylan.

Bliss didn’t want to think about him now.

The elevator opened into the apartment, so they didn’t have to worry about knocking. “Oliver?” Bliss called out. “Mr. Hazard-Perry? Mrs. H-P? Anybody home?”

Her voice echoed in the silence of the apartment.

“Looks like we struck out,” Lawson said.

“It’s a big place,” she replied. “Let’s make sure.”

Bliss walked through the enormous formal dining room, through the kitchen and up the stairs to Oliver’s floor. His bedroom door was open, and it was a mess in there. Not like Oliver. The bed was unmade and there were clothes everywhere.

“Ransacked,” Lawson said.

Bliss shook her head. “He was packing. Must have wanted to get out of here in a hurry.” If she was right, things were worse than she’d thought. Still, he’d left some books on the desk, journals and a few loose papers pressed inside that looked like e-mail printouts. Could be handy. She grabbed them all.

“What do we do now?” Lawson asked, looking uncomfortable.

“There’s another place he might go, or where people might be able to help us,” she said. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”





EIGHT


Schuyler