Misguided Angel

Mimi opened the door to her new office. A week ago, ever since Forsyth Llewellyn had gone missing after the “bonding disaster”—as everyone called the travesty that had been her bonding day—the Conclave had agitated for a new leader. To her surprise, it was her name that had come up in the draw. A week after the disastrous bonding, Ambrose Barlow, a sprightly gentleman of a hundred and one years (cycle extensions had been granted to allow Emeritus members of the Conclave to serve), and Minerva Morgan, the sharp-tongued Conclave Elder who had been one of Cordelia Van Alen’s closest friends, had met her after school and pressed their case. Mimi had refused to put up her name for Regis—not while Charles was still alive somewhere—but had agreed to accept the title of Regent, the Coven’s titular head in a leaderless time.

She settled into the cushy, ergonomic office chair she’d ordered, and called up the Committee database on her desktop. There was so much to do: identify the strongest Committee members and promote them to the flagging Conclave, oversee the Venator staff, induct new blood into the junior Committee—the list went on and on. Forsyth had left everything a mess—it seemed the man had had no interest in anything other than the Conclave while he had been in power, and many of the subcommittees (Health of Human Services, Transformation Centers) were grossly understaffed.

Speaking of Forsyth: no one knew where Bliss was either. The two had probably absconded together, for all Mimi knew. Good riddance. After Forsyth Llewellyn’s disappearance, the Venators had found evidence that Mimi’s predecessor had been harboring their deepest enemy and was instrumental in bringing the Croatan to the attack at the cathedral. Forsyth was the traitor in the Conclave, the snake in their midst.

As for Kingsley, Mimi could still see his face before it had been erased by the subvertio. Looking at her with so much love in his eyes. Where was he now? Was he still alive? Would she ever see him again? Sometimes when she thought about him, she would find she had been staring into space for hours, just staring at the same blinking cursor on a computer screen, while the hurt in her heart throbbed and ached. Nothing made her feel better, absolutely nothing. She had tried throwing a ridiculous amount of money at the problem, over-shopping on her credit cards, and had consulted an array of healers and therapists. But even after a month, nothing had helped. Without the many Conclave meetings and conference calls that allowed her to escape her sadness for a little while, she thought she might go insane with despair.

Of course, even though she was Regent now, she still had to finish out her senior year. More pressing business had to wait until AP exams were over, according to Trinity, who did not accept any excuses, even the governance of the community, for missing schoolwork. Her mother only allowed her a few hours a day to devote to her new position. It had been enough of a blow that Jack was wanted and missing; Trinity wouldn’t let Mimi slack off on her studies as well.

If at first she had been reluctant to take the title, Mimi had slowly warmed to the idea, especially once she’d realized she could use it to her advantage. As the fearless leader of the Coven, she could do anything she wanted. It was the first week of November. She’d been in office for a month now, and had yet to wield her power over something she dearly wanted—taking care of the Coven had come first. But today was finally the day. Today she would have a little conversation with one Oliver Hazard-Perry. She’d had him fetched from the bowels of the Repository, and her secretary rang to inform her of his presence in the waiting room.

“Send him in, Doris,” Mimi ordered, preparing herself for what was sure to be a fight. The wretched human Conduit was her only link to her traitorous brother, and she was determined to beat any information as to Jack’s whereabouts out of him.

Oliver walked into her office. She barely knew the boy, and in the past had only paid attention to him because of his proximity to her rival for Jack’s affections, but even she could discern that he looked different since she last saw him—something in his eyes—a hooded stillness that wasn’t there before. But then again, who hadn’t changed since the bonding disaster? She herself had looked in the mirror the other day and had been horrified to see a haggard, grief-stricken spinster looking back at her. Tragedy was wreaking havoc on her sun-kissed cover-girl looks. It had to stop.

“You rang?” Oliver asked. His face was a mask of deeply felt suffering, so it surprised her that he could still made jokes.

Mimi tossed her hair over her shoulder. “That is not the way a human addresses his superiors.”

“Forgive me, madam.” Oliver smirked. He made himself comfortable in the guest chair. “How may I be of service?”

She got right to the point. “You know where they are.” The minute her brother had left town, Mimi had sent an army of Venators and mercenaries after him, but so far none had been successful in bringing him to justice. Once Jack had left the Coven, he had disavowed its protection as well, so that his spirit was not traceable through the glom.

“They?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“My brother and his . . .” Mimi could not bring herself to say it. “You know where they went; the Venators told me you were there at the airport when they disappeared.”

Oliver clasped his hands together and looked firm. “I can neither agree nor disagree with that statement.”