The Van Alen Legacy

Afterward, they stacked the bodies of the dead Silver Bloods in the backyard and made a funeral pyre. It was only when the first flames caught the wind that Mimi realized it was getting dark. The sun was setting. More than forty-eight hours had passed with no sleep. Mimi was a vampire, but she would have really loved a comfy bed right then. She watched the fire engulf the bodies and send sparks up toward the night sky.

All this and still no Watcher. So what if the Watcher was still alive: this time they didn’t even know what she—was she still a she?—looked like anymore. She could be anybody.

“Where would the Watcher go for safety?” Kingsley asked. He was talking to himself. “To the one who called her. But with Cordelia gone, and Lawrence dead, she has only one recourse. Allegra Van Alen.”

“But Allegra’s in a coma. She’s not going to be much help to anyone,” Mimi pointed out. “Unless, don’t tell me . . .”

“The Watcher has other forms of communication at her disposal, even deeper than our forays into the glom, which have not been able to pierce the wall Gabrielle has erected around herself.” Kingsley nodded. “Besides, I have a feeling that after a year in the Rio slums, I’m sure she’s feeling it too. . . .”

“Feeling what?”

“I think the Watcher wants what you want, Force,” he said softly.

“What’s that?”

“She wants to go home.”





THIRTY-THREE

Schuyler


Oliver tracked Schuyler and Jack to the bottom of the Eiffel Tower, having triangulated their location from the GPS signal on Schuyler’s phone, which was now working since they were outside the ?le Saint-Louis. His costume was torn and singed—it seemed a year ago since he and Schuyler had stepped off of that bus. Schuyler’s heart leapt when she saw him. Oliver! Safe! Whole! This was more than she dreamed possible.

They were both weeping as they hugged, and held each other close. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again. Ever.”

“I could say the same to you,” Oliver said.

He told them that after they had left the party, there had been chaos. Leviathan and the Silver Bloods had begun to set fire to everything, scorching treetops and coming dangerously close to the building itself. It looked as if the massacre in Rio was happening all over again. But then Charles Force appeared and fought them off one by one, leading them out of the grounds. Then they had disappeared. It looked like they had all gone underground.

“Yes,” Jack said. “Charles was leading them to the intersection. A portion of the glom that the Silver Bloods can enter but can never leave. A space between worlds.”

“Limbo.” Oliver nodded.

“So what happened back there?” Schuyler asked, remembering the strange phenomenon they had experienced.

Jack shook his head. “I’m not really sure. But whatever it was, I think Charles somehow managed to reverse the process—to stop the tearing and repair the wound. Otherwise none of us would be standing here.”

But Jack did not say what they all knew. That while the Silver Bloods had failed, it had not been without a small victory. Charles Force was gone. He never made it to the surface, and the catacombs were empty.

“So is he dead?” Schuyler asked dully.

“I’m not certain. I think he’s just lost,” Jack replied.

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know just yet,” he sighed. “The Conclave is not what it was. I don’t foresee garnering any help from that direction. But they’re all we’ve got.” Jack looked exhausted. “What about you? What will you do?”

“Run,” Oliver said firmly. “We’ll keep running.”

“You can’t run forever, Schuyler. The tremors—your sickness—you can’t hide it. It’s part of your transformation. You must go to the right doctor who can help you. You’re only endangering yourself by keeping away. I can vouch for you with the Conclave. I will make them understand. They will call off the Venators. Trust me. You’ll be safe in New York. You can’t risk being alone anymore. The coven is weakened and leaderless right now, but we will regroup. Come back to New York.”

Come back to me. Jack did not say it out loud, but Schuyler heard it loud and clear nevertheless.

She shuffled on her feet. The two boys stood on either side of her, both of them with their hands jammed into their pockets. Oliver’s chin was almost at his chest, his head was bowed so low. He couldn’t look her in the eyes. Jack was looking at her directly, with that overpowering stare. She loved them both, and she could feel her heart breaking over them. She would never be able to choose. It was impossible.

Oliver was telling her to keep running, while Jack wanted her to go home. More than anything, she wanted to go back to New York; to stop, to rest, to recover, but she could not make the decision alone. As much as she still loved Jack, and as much as it would make her miserable forever to leave him again, there was Oliver to consider. Her gentle truehearted friend.

“What do you think, Ollie? What should we do?” she asked, turning to the boy who had kept her safe for more than a year.





THIRTY-FOUR

Bliss