Gates of Paradise (a Blue Bloods Novel)

“Tell us, make us understand,” Oliver urged.

Tilly fiddled with the rings on her fingers. “In the beginning, the danger was great. Lucifer had been discovered, and the paths had to be guarded or the demons would be unleashed into our world. Lucas and I were assigned to Gabrielle’s protection, as was everyone from our old legion. Your mother did what she had to do in London, then we left Lucas behind.” She motioned for a second cup of tea. “That’s all I remember from that time. Of course, the Crisis in Rome was just the beginning of the trouble. I was with your mother in Florence when…” Her voice faltered and she shivered.

“When?” Schuyler prompted.

Tilly closed her eyes. “When Gabrielle discovered that Lucifer had tricked her. That the Gates of Hell she had built during the founding of Rome were no match for his power.”

Schuyler and Oliver exchanged an uneasy glace. “What happened in Florence?”

“Lucifer was vanquished, of course. Michael saw to that, as he always did.”

Schuyler looked at her keenly. “You don’t seem so sure.”

Tilly stirred her tea. “I don’t know. I tried to forget about it, it was all so horrible. Anyway, the years went by…centuries upon centuries, and nothing happened.…”

“Not nothing…There have been deaths. Young ones taken,” Schuyler said. “Even here, in the London Coven.”

“Yeah, I guess, but it wasn’t like…it wasn’t like it was everybody. It was one at a time.…” Tilly said, her voice fading a little.

“What are a few souls here and there in the grand scheme of things, right?” Oliver said brusquely.

“I know you think it’s terribly awful of us. That we let your mother down somehow, with Lucas going underground and all. But it’s not as if evil isn’t everywhere. It’s all around. We’re not the only victims anymore. The Red Bloods…are much more violent and vicious than we ever were.”

“Lucas mentioned that you had mortalized.…”

“Did he? Such an old goat. ‘Mortalized.’ I guess I did. I got bored, I suppose.…”

“Bored?” Schuyler said coldly.

“Yeah. I don’t know, sucking blood and all that…seemed so…” She shuddered. “Well, it’s not really good for you, is it? All that protein? I mean, I’m a vegan now.…” she said weakly.

A vegan-freaking-vampire. Schuyler decided she had certainly heard it all.

“So you don’t…perform the Sacred Kiss?” asked Oliver.

“No. Haven’t needed one in centuries. Thought I’d fade away at first, and I did get brutally sick. I remember it was during the eighteenth century sometime, when I thought I would just fade away. But then I recovered, and I haven’t touched a drop since.”

Tilly hadn’t performed the Sacred Kiss in centuries. And neither had Schuyler for at least a year, ever since she’d left Oliver to be with Jack. Come to think of it, when she and Jack had been together, neither of them had taken familiars. She had forgotten the taste of blood and she had survived.

“By the way, we prefer the term ‘gone native,’” Tilly said.

“We?” asked Oliver.

“Are there so many of you?” Schuyler asked.

Tilly tapped her finger against her teacup. “Yeah. Tons. It’s not something the Repository or the Covens or the Regis ever wanted to accept. But yeah, a lot of us aren’t living as vampires anymore. We don’t cycle, we don’t reincarnate.”

“It’s just another word for Enmortal, isn’t it?” Oliver mused, meaning the vampires who chose not to rest but remain awake for their immortal life.

“Yeah. Maybe. I guess. Except…”

“We get it, no blood, no human familiars. Do you still have fangs even?” Schuyler asked, wondering what had become of her own. She hadn’t felt them in so long.

“Yeah, they’re still there. Sometimes they pop up, but you learn to control them.” Tilly put her coat on. “Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t help. Lucas said things are looking bad for the Covens. Everyone’s gone underground again. But maybe that’s for the best.”

“For the best?” Schuyler asked, an edge in her voice.

“Seems unfair, doesn’t it? The whole vampire-elite thing? What gave us the right? Maybe the Silver Bloods have a point. Maybe we’re useless, in the end. Who needs us?” She nodded. “Thanks for the tea. And for the suggestion on the masks. I’ll use them tomorrow.”





TWELVE


Tomasia (Florence, 1452)


is breath was sweet in her ear, his lashes soft on her cheek. “I give myself to you and accept you as my own,” Gio whispered, his voice low and trembling with emotion.