Gates of Paradise (a Blue Bloods Novel)

“Each of us will take a corner of the castle. Wait for my word. Once released, the flame cannot be extinguished. It can destroy stone as well as flesh, and immortal souls as swiftly as mortal. Toss the torches onto the castle, then run away as fast as you are able.” Her voice trembled a little. “Remember, the Black Fire of Hell is treacherous; it will burn you as easily as it will burn our enemies.”


The team disbanded, carrying their torches high in the air. The three other Venators disappeared along the river’s edge, while Tomi and Gio sprinted across the bridge, toward the keep. Tomi watched as the dark flames flickered on both sides of the wall, the Black Fire sucking all light from the murky night.

They crossed to the far side of the bridge.

When she was certain the team was in position, she gave the signal.

Now, she sent to each Venator as she released her torch, sending the flame to the sky.

Gio sent his flying to the air, toward an open window. “RUN!” he yelled, as they fled the black flames.

Tomi knew the danger, but couldn’t stop from looking backward. The sight was magnificent in its horror. The Black Fire erupted over the castle wall, melting the gray stone as if it were made of wax. The two towers and the mighty gate collapsed backward into a black hole of swirling flames. The far side of the bridge toppled behind them, pulling one of the bridge’s broad pillars with it into the dark waters in a thunderous crash.

The black flames began to consume the river, making the water steam as the fire raced across its length. The smell was hideous, sick and rotten; it consumed everything in its path: air, water, and rock.

When they reached the far bank and the edge of the forest, they heard the first screams from inside the castle. They ran along the riverbank, the fire receding behind them. A mile from the castle, they reached high ground and looked down at the valley below. The river rode in a broad circle around the promontory and back to the castle, and the Black Fire would not spread beyond it once it had consumed the soul of the Dark Prince. Two of the three Venators appeared out of the smoke.

“Where’s Dantos?” Tomi asked.

“The Black Fire caught his eye. I tried to subdue it, but it was no use,” Bellarmine said.

“He burned, I saw him,” Valentina said. “He rests with the angels now.”

Tomi felt her heart wrench in anger. Like Bellarmine and Valentina, Dantos had been part of her loyal Venator team since the days of Rome. Tomi leaned against Gio, blinking back tears.

She watched the castle implode upon itself, and crumble into a thousand dark pieces. Good-bye, Andreas. Her hatred of her former love was as great as her grief for her fallen comrade.

Burn, devil, burn.





FIVE


Schuyler


he house on Primrose Hill was larger than the typical London town house, with a curved facade boasting several first-floor balconies, a soaring triple-height ceiling in the entryway, a formal dining room that could seat twenty, an industrial-style kitchen, eight bedrooms, a spacious upper terrace, and a suite of offices in the attic. When the Coven had disbanded, the house was kept in pristine condition by the remaining Venators and their Conduits. Schuyler had to admit she was glad for the home comforts, the French soap and the three-ply towels—such luxuries after the months spent in that tiny, dingy hotel room in Egypt.

Even though the staff was due to arrive at any minute, Schuyler spent the morning cleaning up from the party the night before—picking cigarette butts up off the floor, tossing all the dirty champagne glasses into the dishwasher, fluffing up pillows, vacuuming. At the very least, it gave her something to do with her nervous energy. She hadn’t been sleeping very much lately, and the thought that they were now nearer to discovering the truth about the Gate of Promise had kept her up all night.

Oliver rolled into the dining room in time for lunch, still in pajamas, his hair sticking up from his forehead, sleepy-eyed and yawning. The cook had set out a “ploughman’s lunch” on the buffet table: plates of cheese-and-pickle sandwiches, a tray of “crisps,” and bottled water, in deference to their American tastes. Oliver filled up a plate and took a seat across from Schuyler at the long table.

“I just found out this house used to belong to the Ward family before they bequeathed it to the Venators fifty years ago,” Schuyler said. “Maybe that’s why it feels so comfortable…like Dylan is still with us.” Maybe that was why she felt the way she did—maybe the presence that was never too far away was her old friend watching over them. But why did it feel so detached, then? As if whatever or whoever it was—was judging her and finding her wanting.