The Van Alen Legacy

The Lennoxes were already in the water. Their nylon pants were unzipped at the knee, and they carried their backpacks over their heads. Kingsley did the same, except he also removed his T-shirt, showing off his broad chest, tanned and smooth. When had Kingsley had time to work on his tan? Mimi wondered.

Well, at least she wouldn’t have to wear her uncomfortable shoes anymore. Even with the heel surgery, they didn’t provide adequate support. She kicked them off and stripped down to her camisole and underwear, and slipped into the water, holding her bag over her head.

The water must have come from a mountain spring, because it was cold, almost freezing, but it felt wonderful after almost two days of walking around a hot city without a proper shower. The river current was strong and threatened to wash Mimi away. She used every inch of her muscles to make it to the other side. When she reached the shallow end, Kingsley held out his hand and pulled her up, but she lost her step and fell into his arms, her body crushing momentarily against his.

Mimi blushed at the unexpected intimacy, and to her surprise found Kingsley looking slightly embarrassed as well. For all his talk and flirting, he handled himself like a true gentleman. “Sorry about that,” he said, straightening up.

“Nothing to worry about.” Mimi smiled a smile that said no one could resist her in a wet camisole—not even the great Kingsley Martin. But her breezy facade was just that—a facade—because she felt a spark pass between them when Kingsley touched her. Something that she didn’t want to acknowledge right then, or ever, but she felt a connection to him . . . and not just that—a desire—quite unlike her usual voracity for human familiars: those red-blooded toys that she disposed of at will (she’d already left two of them back at the hotel). No, this was something deeper, stirring something inside her. . . . A memory, perhaps? Had they known each other in a prior lifetime? And if so, what had happened between them? Nothing? Everything? She didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because the boys were already scrambling up the edge of the bank.

She removed her clothes from the waterproof pack and began to dress, averting her eyes from Kingsley, who was doing the same.

“We shouldn’t be too far,” Kingsley said, checking the map once they were ready.

They made their way through the wilderness until they arrived at a cluster of trees and greenery that created a curtain around a small, wooden dwelling. Not quite a shack but not quite a house either. There was a strange symbol on the doorway—a five-pointed star. The mark of Lucifer. Mimi shivered and noticed that the rest of the team looked tense as well. This would not be as easy as fighting off a gang of drug dealers.

“This is it,” Kingsley said. “Force and I will take the front; you two cover the back exit,” he ordered.

Mimi followed Kingsley into position as they crept up toward the front door.

“On the count of three.” Kingsley nodded. He had brandished his sword. Its silver blade glinted in the sun.

Mimi removed hers from the wire in her bra, the needle unfolding to the full length of her weapon. A sudden image came up: hunting demons through a tunnel of caves, the shrieking and then the silence. A memory? Mimi blinked. Or a projection? Wasn’t that Jack’s voice? She couldn’t be sure. The connection between them was not what it used to be.

Focus. Kingsley was counting down.

“One, two . . .” He nodded to Mimi and she kicked at the door, which opened with a bang.





TWENTY-FOUR

Schuyler


Jack led Schuyler through the residential streets of the ?le Saint-Louis and over the bridge connecting to ?le de la Cité, where she caught a glimpse of Notre Dame as they flew past the square and into the nearest Metro station. “Where are we going?” she panted as they jumped the locked turnstiles. The trains had stopped running an hour ago.

“Somewhere we’ll be safe,” he said as they ran to the very end of the empty platform: Schuyler had become familiar with the aesthetics of the Metro, but she was still struck by how beautiful even something like the subway could be in Paris. The Cité tunnel was lit by Art Deco–style globe lights that curved over the tracks with a charming flair.

“There’s an old station below this one; they closed it off when they rebuilt the Metro,” Jack said, opening a hidden door located at the very end of the station and leading her down a dusty staircase. The station underneath appeared to be frozen in time, as if it had been just yesterday that travelers had waited for steam engines to take them to their destinations. Schuyler and Jack walked on the old railroad tracks, until the tracks stopped and the tunnels turned into caves leading farther and farther underground. The darkness smothered them like a blanket—Schuyler was glad for the illuminata—it was the only way she could see Jack.