The Van Alen Legacy

It’s this way,” Jack said. “When I was a kid, the cooks used to chase me out of here.” He showed Schuyler the secret passageways that twisted through the building’s vast storerooms underneath the castle.

Historically, the home had been built to accommodate an entire court of nobles. There was a full servants’ wing, and the kitchens and pantries went down three levels. When the count was still alive, the royal couple had hosted lavish monthlong parties for guests and their entourages. The castle was meant to sustain what had become an increasingly outdated, not to mention incredibly expensive, lifestyle. No wonder the developers planned to chop it up into apartments—living with a staff of sixty had become untenable even to the countess, who was moving to her villa in Saint-Tropez with a much more moderate household.

But while the property boasted dozens of hidden rooms and mazelike passageways, in the end there was only one way out of the H?tel Lambert. Everyone, from the highest ranking nobleman to the humblest kitchen steward, had to go through the central courtyard and out the main gates. Jack and Schuyler found they didn’t have a choice: they would have to walk through the vipers’ nest to freedom.

The staircase from the servants’ quarters led straight into the main hall, where Jack and Schuyler could hear the sounds of hysterical laughter and uncontrollable gaiety, which sounded more overwrought and frantic as the dizzying music gained speed and volume.

“What are they doing?” Schuyler whispered as they huddled behind one of the fluted columns. “Why do I feel . . . like . . . like I want to . . . to hurt someone?”

“It’s what the Silver Bloods do—they push—they use the glom like we do, except they push in the opposite direction. They bring out the worst in people.”

“Shouldn’t we warn everyone?” she asked.

“This isn’t Rio. There are too many of us to overpower; the Silver Bloods will not risk anything more dangerous than compulsion. They are only here for you,” Jack said, trying to blunt the difficulty of their situation with another reassuring smile.

Schuyler did not want to be swallowed up by her fear, and steadied herself by concentrating on fighting the rising overwhelming sickness she felt from the Silver Bloods’ spell.

They had to find Oliver, and then they had to get out of here as quietly as possible. She had made a huge ruckus in running away from Jack, but the over-the-top antics of the Bollywood musical numbers had covered up most of that. The guests had figured she was part of the show, especially given the way she was dressed. In her sari she had blended right in.

“Here,” Jack said, handing her a small silver crucifix on a chain. “It should help.” He pulled out a similar one from underneath his shirt. “Part of the Venator uniform.”

They crept out to the garden and found Oliver standing by himself under a majestic beech tree, holding a drink. If he was surprised to see Schuyler with Jack, he didn’t show it except for a slight raise of his eyebrows, although it pained Schuyler to notice that a little light went out in his eyes when he saw them together.

It’s not what you think, she wanted to tell him. I love you.

Regardless, when Oliver turned to Jack, he was genial and gave him an overly hearty handshake. “Good to see you, man. Been a long time.”

For his part, Jack shook Oliver’s hand with a firm grip. The two of them were intent on acting as if they had bumped into each other at the Senior Fling. Just a bunch of Upper East Side preppies catching up on news and gossip. “So what brings you here, Force? Not the Committee I hope,” Oliver said, his light tone masking a wary undercurrent.

“Not at all,” Jack said, as Schuyler quickly brought Oliver up to speed.

Once apprised, Oliver immediately understood the danger they were in. “So, what do you guys have in mind?” he asked them. “I have a feeling we’re not going to be able to get out of here quietly.”

“So far they haven’t noticed that Schuyler is not in that room waiting for the countess anymore,” Jack said, looking around. “I think we can make it to Lu—” But before Jack could finish his sentence, he stopped, looking up with a startled expression on his face.

Schuyler glanced over his shoulder. The Baron de Coubertin had reappeared on the other side of the courtyard. But there was something different about him. Changed. Even from afar, Schuyler could see that his eyes were rimmed in crimson fire. Silver pupils.

Leviathan.

He stood immobile, scanning the room with those dreadful silver eyes.

Schuyler turned to Oliver and saw that he had noticed him too. Oliver’s face was ashen. “I let you go off with him—I was so stupid—I knew something was wrong. . . . When I spoke to him at the boat he was different, jolly even. I should have known something wasn’t right.”