Gates of Paradise (a Blue Bloods Novel)

“You know, the opposite of a skyscraper,” Bliss said. “The human Conduits watch over it. Maybe some of them will know where everybody is. They might also have some information about how we can get back to the underworld—you never know.”


Lawson’s face brightened, and Bliss felt a little guilty for bringing it up. It wasn’t all that likely that the Conduits would be able to help, at least not with the wolves. Vampire knowledge of wolf lore was relatively limited. Oh, well. They’d find out soon enough.

Bliss led Lawson through the front door of Force Tower, to an elevator at the very back of the elevator bank. It was the only one containing a panel that would allow them to travel down instead of up.

“It smells weird in here,” Lawson said.

He was right—it smelled musty and unused. The buttons on the panel were dusty. Bliss worried about what they would find when the doors opened.

She had been right to worry, because when they did open, she could see that the Repository had been all but destroyed.

What once had been a beautiful and welcoming library, with luscious leather chairs and rows of old-fashioned carrels, was now essentially a pile of rubble. Ransacked and left to burn. There were still some small fires burning in parts of the room, and everything smelled like smoke. There weren’t as many books piled up as Bliss would have imagined, so maybe some of them had been saved.

“I take it this isn’t what it usually looks like,” Lawson said.

“Not even a little bit. I don’t know what happened,” she said, struck by a feeling of a deep sadness and nostalgia. They wandered through the library, looking in at the more formal offices of Committee Headquarters, the private reading areas, the rare book rooms. All trashed.

“Whoever they were, they were pretty thorough,” said Lawson. Then he stopped and sniffed at the air. “Someone’s here.”

Bliss whirled around. “Where?” she asked, ready to fight or flee.

“It’s human, don’t worry,” he said.

“Hello?” Bliss shouted. “Anyone here?”

From the recesses of a dark corner of the stacks, a figure emerged. He looked stooped and broken; his overly formal clothing was tattered and smeared with ash.

“Are those velvet pants?” Lawson whispered. “Who is this guy?”

“He’s a Conduit,” Bliss whispered back. “Sir?” she said out loud. “I believe we’ve met before, a long time ago. I’m Bliss Llewellyn.”

“I know who you are, Miss Llewellyn,” the man said, in a voice that Bliss recalled as being haughty but which now sounded frightened. “Renfield,” he said.

“What happened here, Renfield?” she asked. “Where is everybody?”

Renfield shook his head. “We Conduits tried to store away as much as we could before going underground with the Coven, and I went back to grab a few more books and saw this.”

“What do you mean underground? Where is everybody?”

“Gone. Everyone’s gone. There are no vampires left. It’s all chaos. The Regent is missing, the conclave has been disbanded.”

“That can’t be true,” Bliss said, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve only been gone a year. Things can’t have changed that much. It can’t all be over.”

“I’m sure it’s not over,” Lawson said, and took her hand. “We’ll figure it out.”

“There may still be some hope,” Renfield said. “A Venator bulletin went out.”

“Show us,” Bliss urged.

“It came over the wire the other week,” he said. “I was disseminating the information to the remaining members of the Coven when I heard you out here. Come to my office.”

Bliss and Lawson followed Renfield through the stacks, to a room tucked away in a back corner, where Bliss had never been. The door was beautiful and intricately carved, as were all the doors in the Repository; the fact that the solid wood remained undamaged made Bliss start to feel safe.

Until Renfield opened the door and a demon ripped out his throat.





ELEVEN


Schuyler


few minutes later, Schuyler, Oliver, and Tilly were settled into a cozy corner of a small tea shop, which was decorated with traditional, comfortable, grandmother-like touches—chintz couches and damask floral pillows. “So, did Lucas tell you why we wanted to see you?” Schuyler asked, sinking into a plush and decidedly lumpy armchair that Cordelia would never have allowed in her elegant Manhattan town house.

Tilly smiled. “Yes he did. Although, for a moment there, I thought you guys were from Chic. They’re supposed to interview me.”

Schuyler ignored the comment. “We wanted to talk about what you might know about the Gate of Promise.”

The designer sighed. “Oh yes, yes. The Order of the Seven and all those grave responsibilities…”

“Forgive me if this sounds rude, but responsibilities like guarding the Gates of Hell? I would say that is pretty serious,” said Schuyler, a bit taken aback by Tilly’s irreverence.

Tilly shrugged. “It did seem terribly urgent back then. But you have to understand—you’re a new soul, right? Lucas told me about you. The half-blood. Gabrielle’s daughter. You don’t have the blood memories. You don’t know what it’s like.”