Gates of Paradise (a Blue Bloods Novel)

It was amazing how much Peter Pendragon reminded her of Lawrence. Something in the haughty way he greeted her, his aristocratic mien and aloof manner. As Oliver explained, the Knights Templar was a splinter group of Venators, devoted to protecting the holy relics. But as time passed, their importance to the Covens had diminished and their ranks thinned. Peter Pendragon was one of the last remaining members.

They met him in his study at Marlborough Farm, a sprawling estate a few hours away from the city. The grand old manor had seen better days, most of its windows shuttered, dust motes flying in the air, furniture covered in sheets of fabric. The house was a beautiful ruin, like many historical homes in England that were too expensive for the upkeep, left to linger and decay. Perhaps that was why Schuyler felt at home in the shrouded, dark manor—it reminded her of her own home in New York City. She had been a child among phantoms, surrounded by memories of a better time, living in a dark, secluded place, with only her formidable grandmother as a companion.

She felt that watchful presence again; it came and went, and while it was troubling to feel as if she were being observed, there wasn’t much she could do about it. For now, whoever or whatever it was seemed to be benign enough.

“So you are Allegra’s daughter,” Peter said, looking Schuyler up and down. “And you have come to London to unlock the secret of the Gate of Promise.”

“Yes. Tilly St. James sent us. She said you were part of Gabrielle’s old team, just like her and Lucas Mendrion.”

“I was,” he said. “Come, sit down. Will you have tea?”

Schuyler declined politely, feeling as if the world were on a knife’s edge, and all she was doing was drinking champagne and sipping tea while her love was lost and Rome burned.

“Nice spread,” Oliver said, admiring the furnishings. Schuyler nudged him with her elbow, annoyed.

“What?” he asked. Kingsley’s cockiness was wearing off on him.

Pendragon turned to Schuyler. “I know Mendrion and the rest of the Coven are going underground. But I will stay here and make my stand. Besides, I heard through the Venators that something is happening in London soon. Your arrival is fortuitous, I think. Gabrielle’s daughter. That I am alive in this cycle to meet you is a wonder.

“I was assigned to Gabrielle when Dantos died in Florence in the fifteenth century, during that ugly mess. I had a shorter run than they did, since I left your mother’s service to join the Knights Templar.”

“Why did you leave?” Schuyler asked.

“It was Gabrielle’s idea, actually. She said I could serve her better as a knight.” He smiled. “I tried not to take it too personally. I liked working for your mother.”

“Can you help us?”

“Maybe.” He nodded. “Tell me what you know.”

“Catherine of Sienna told us that the Gate of Promise will only unlock with the key of the twins,” Schuyler said. “Do you know what that means?”

“The key of the twins is the sangreal. The holy blood,” he said, shifting in his chair.

“Holy blood,” Schuyler echoed.

“Another name for it is the Blood of the Father.”

“The Holy Grail?” Oliver guessed.

“No. The grail is the cup of Christ. There’s some mishmash about it being a person, but that’s not true; just some popular rumor, another false concept we released to the Red Bloods to keep the grails safe.” He shrugged.

“There is more than one?” asked Schuyler.

“Well, of course; you do not drink from only one cup, do you?” he said. “They are hidden all over the world. Once upon a time, there were enough of us to guard each one, but no more,” he sighed, just as his butler entered the room and whispered in his ear.

“Excuse me,” he told them, struggling to stand with the help of his cane. “It seems there is a disturbance at one of the grail sites and I must take my leave. Please forgive me. We must continue this charming conversation another time.”

“Is it serious?” Schuyler asked, looking worried.

“I’m sure the nuns are just jumpy. Do not worry. The grails are well hidden. A very old and very deep magic keeps them safe from harm.”

“Just like the gates,” Schuyler said.

Pendragon nodded, appraising her with approval. “The holy blood is about lineage, about ancestry.” The old knight looked at Schuyler. “Do you know who your father is?”

Back in the cab on the way to the town house, Schuyler mulled over Pendragon’s words and her own history. She was the Dimidium Cognatus. The half-blood. The only child of vampire and human lineage. “The Blood of the Father…Do you think?” she asked Oliver. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Your father is still alive,” Oliver said. “That’s what your mother wanted you to know.”

“Alive? It can’t be.”