The Van Alen Legacy

“I didn’t see it either, Ollie. There’s no way you would have known,” she said. Silver Bloods were agile shape shifters, Schuyler remembered her grandfather telling her. Leviathan had locked her in that room, probably intending to dispose of her later. She shuddered to think of what they were planning to do with her.

“Listen, I’ll only slow you down, but maybe I can slow them down,” Oliver said, taking off his turban and throwing it on the ground.

“No!” Schuyler said. “We’re getting out of this together or we’re not getting out at all! Oliver! Listen to me!” she begged, a dawning horror as she realized what he was planning to do.

“Too late,” Oliver said as he picked up a nearby torch and ran toward the entrance guarded by the elephants. “Come and get me!” he cried, waving it back and forth in a crazed manner. The elephants reared back on their hind legs, throwing off the King and Queen of Siam, and ran amuck through the bushes, chasing Oliver. The mahouts yelled, and befuddled party guests ran in every direction, trying to get away from the rampaging beasts.

“Quick!” Jack said. “Before they close the gates.” He held out his hand.

“But . . . Oliver!” Schuyler lurched around. “Oliver, no! Oliver!”

“He’s human; they don’t want him—Schuyler, we’ve got to get you out of here! Please!” Jack said, holding out his hand.

“No! I can’t! I can’t leave him!” She watched as Oliver ran farther and farther away, the elephants charging right behind him.

But staying there wouldn’t help Oliver. Not right now. And she was just putting them in more danger by hesitating. She wanted to run after Oliver, but she let Jack lead her away. They ran, ducking confused torchbearers and catering staff, dodging rampaging elephants, screaming party guests, and dazed servers. She could feel the wrath of the demon Leviathan, could feel his eyes boring at the back of her skull, a heavy, deliberate malevolence.

In a moment he would be upon them.

But unlike fighting, running was something Schuyler could do well, and together she and Jack flew across the cobbled courtyard and through the main gates. She looked over her shoulder one last time and caught a glimpse of Oliver’s raised arm as he disappeared into the rioting throng.

He was waving good-bye.





TWENTY-TWO

Bliss


The fashion show went well. Bliss managed to do her two turns on the runway without incident, even though she was still rattled by hearing the Visitor’s menacing voice in her head. What was he planning? What did he mean “they will be easy enough to overcome . . .”? But then, she knew what he’d meant, didn’t she? Wasn’t she just in denial about everything? Because there had to be a reason for the Visitor’s presence in her life; it wasn’t as if he was just hanging around so he could get to know his dear daughter better, was he? There was a reason he was here.

And whatever reason that was, she was involved because, for all intents and purposes, she was him. Whatever the Visitor did or did not do, they wouldn’t see Lucifer behind it—they would only see Bliss. Well, maybe she could do something about it. Maybe she should make the effort to find out what the Visitor was doing when he was away.

Maybe it would be a good idea not to be left in the dark so much.

She massaged her temples. Thankfully, most of the other models had left her alone. They knew her story, and no one ventured to give her more than a few sympathetic looks. Bliss thought she might as well have the word “SURVIVOR” stamped on her forehead from the way the girls whispered about her. Stepmother murdered. Sister missing . . . presumed killed . . . Awful . . . These things do happen in Rio, don’t they?

Bliss thought that was terribly unfair. What had happened to her family had nothing to do with the country they were in, but of course she couldn’t tell anyone that. She just wanted to get out here. She changed out of her final outfit—a tulle ball gown that some grande dame would wear to the opening of the ballet in the fall—and put her plain white sundress back on. She was walking across the green lawn, ducking a few familiar faces and hoping she could just get back home without having to talk to anyone, when she heard her name being called.

“Bliss? Is that you? Hey!” A pretty girl with long blond hair, wearing a floppy straw hat and a chic one-shouldered dress, walked over.

Bliss recognized the girl immediately. She was Allison Ellison—or Ally Elli, as she was called—one of the Red Bloods from Duchesne.