Gates of Paradise (a Blue Bloods Novel)

“A snack will take the edge off, just in case,” Oliver replied, and ordered oysters and sushi. “Now, why are you so nervous about meeting these people? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”


“I guess,” Schuyler said. “But I know so little about them, and I don’t think they know anything at all about me. I mean, that butler didn’t really sound surprised that there might be some secret granddaughter roaming around, although maybe that’s just how butlers are supposed to sound. What if my grandmother doesn’t want to have anything to do with me? Don’t you think it’s weird that she agreed to meet with a stranger off the street? And what if this trip turns out to be pointless? We could be wasting valuable time here.”

“Or what if we find exactly what you’ve been searching for all your life?” Oliver said.

“What do you mean? We’re here to find the sangreal, aren’t we? That Blood of the Father thing.”

“That’s what we need, or the vampires need,” he said. “But it’s not the same thing you’ve been missing.”

“What are you talking about?” Schuyler said, annoyed. She pointed her cocktail fork in his direction. “Stop being so cryptic.”

“Let’s take a step back,” he said. “For most of your life you only knew your mother as an unconscious figure in a hospital bed. You were told that your father was dead. The only family member you thought you had in the world was your grandmother, and she’s gone now, as is your grandfather, who you met only a few years ago. But your father’s family is your family too. Your human family. I can imagine why that would be a scary thing to think about. But it could also be awesome.”

“Awesome how?”

“Well, why assume that they’d be such skeptics about you? Why not assume they’d welcome you with open arms, thrilled to have found you? Isn’t that how you’d feel if it turned out your father were alive? Ecstatic?”

“I used to think so,” Schuyler said. “I kept hoping.…But what if I’m wrong? What if he’s awful? Cordelia always intimated that he’d done something terrible. She always told me to stop thinking about him, that he wasn’t worthy of my mother.”

Oliver squirmed in his chair. “She probably just meant he wasn’t worthy of her because he was human.”

Schuyler nodded. “You may have a point there.”

“Cordelia wasn’t a big fan of the relationship, but do you really think your mother would bond with a guy like that?” Oliver asked gently. “Allegra gave up everything for him. He must be pretty special.”

“Maybe,” Schuyler grudgingly admitted. She’d always loved her father in that obligatory way that anyone has toward an absent relative—like she was supposed to love him because of who he was. But she’d never known him at all. Cordelia had never talked about him, and for Schuyler’s entire childhood, Allegra had been in a coma. When she’d woken up, all she’d cared about was the Van Alen Legacy. There had been no time to tell her daughter anything else, it seemed. Except, when she’d really needed her, Schuyler realized—her mother had appeared to her, right when Schuyler had been torn between choosing to follow her heart with Jack or to remain with Oliver. You cannot be with someone just because you don’t want to hurt him. You have your own happiness to think about.

But if Bendix was still alive…then where the hell had he been all these years? Why had he never visited Allegra? Never tried to contact Schuyler? Not once, not a card, not a phone call. Cordelia might have been an impediment, but what could that matter to a father who loved his daughter?

“Now, finish your drink, eat some oysters, and fortify for your Oprah reunion.” Oliver winked.

Schuyler laughed. “You’re a good friend, Ollie.”

“Happy to be of service,” he said, and bent over the table in a mock bow.

“Watch it, you almost dunked your hair in your drink,” Schuyler pointed out. “You just missed because it’s pretty much gone.”

“My hair?” Oliver asked in mock horror, running his hands through his thick locks.

“No, your drink.” Schuyler laughed.

“Must be time for a refill, then,” he said.

But before Oliver could summon the bartender, Schuyler heard an unusual beeping noise coming from his cell phone. “Did you get a text?” she asked. “That’s not what it usually sounds like.”

Oliver looked nervous as he picked up the phone to check his message. “Give me a second,” he said, and stepped away from the bar.

Must be pretty bad, Schuyler thought, because she saw his face turn pale.

He walked back to her chair but didn’t sit down.

“What is it?” she asked.

“That wasn’t a text message—it was the emergency beacon from the Repository in New York. It’s never gone off before, or at least I’ve never been the one to receive the signal, so it took me a minute to figure out what it was. Something really bad has happened. I have to go back right away.”