The Van Alen Legacy

*

Back at the hotel, and feeling much better, Schuyler sat on the little balcony outside their room, wrapped up in a bathrobe. Inside the tiny kitchenette, Oliver was putting the final touches to his curry. He brought out a steaming bowl and set it in front of her with a spoon. They had both learned to cook while on the run. Oliver’s specialty was an Indian banana-and-chicken curry, while Schuyler liked to make interesting concoctions out of pasta and whatever she could find in the fridge. (Sometimes Oliver said they were too interesting.)

“Thanks,” she said, gladly accepting the warm bowl of yellow curry and rice. She lifted a spoonful to her lips and blew on it before eating, so it wouldn’t scorch her tongue. Outside, sailboats and cruise ships dotted Sydney’s harbor. The ocean was a deep sea-green—not unlike Jack’s eyes, she thought, then stopped herself. She would not think about him, or what he was doing, or if he was missing her too. She focused on her food. Oliver was watching her through the sliding glass door.

He had that look on his face, and she knew what it meant. He walked out, set a cup of tea next to her, and sat on one of the plastic chairs. “Sky, we need to talk.”

“I know what you’re going to say, Ollie, but the answer is no.” She took a sip of the tea. Amazing that even with everything that had happened, Oliver had still managed to buy a tin. He really was a good Conduit.

“Sky, you’re not being reasonable.”

“I’m not? They’re going to put us in jail, or whatever they do to people like us.” Schuyler shrugged. She knew the punishment for evading Conclave justice: a thousand years of Expulsion. Your spirit locked up in a box. But what if she wasn’t immortal? What would they do to her then? And what would happen to Oliver?

“You heard what Jack said. The Conclave has bigger problems than the two of us right now. Besides, maybe this time they’ll believe you. The fire at the H?tel Lambert was all over the papers, and the European Conclave is up in arms—they have witnesses who saw Leviathan! They can’t deny it anymore.”

“Even if they believe me now, they won’t let our actions go unpunished. You know that better than I do,” Schuyler pointed out.

“True, but that was when Charles Force was Regis. No one is leading the Conclave right now. They’re frightened and disorganized. I think it would be safe to go home.”

“Frightened people make the worst judgments,” Schuyler argued. “ I don’t trust an organization that would make policy out of fear. And how about you? You’re a traitor too, you know. What about your parents? They’ll go after them.” So far Oliver’s family had been left alone, aside from their every move being tracked by the Venators: phones bugged, accounts analyzed. Oliver’s parents told him on one of their rare satellite phone calls that they couldn’t go to Dean & Deluca without feeling they were being watched.

Oliver took a gulp from his big Foster’s can. “I think we can buy them.”

Schuyler stacked her empty cup into her empty bowl. “Excuse me?”

“Pay them off. The Conclave needs money. They’re pretty much broke. My parents have a ton. I can buy my way out of it, I know I can.”

Why was she arguing? Oliver was telling her what she wanted to hear—that they could go home, and yet it frightened her. “I don’t want to go.”

“You’re lying. You want to go home. I know it. And we are. End of discussion,” Oliver said. “I’m booking us on the next flight back. I won’t hear anything else.”

Oliver didn’t speak to her for the rest of the evening. She fell asleep with a crick in her neck from the tension. Why was she being so stubborn, she wondered as she drifted off to sleep. Oliver only wanted the best for her.

Why are you being so stubborn?

Schuyler opened her eyes.

She was in New York, in her bedroom. The faded Broadway Playbill covers that lined the walls were yellow and curling at the edges.

Her mother was sitting on her bed. This was a dream. But not the usual one. A dream about her mother. She didn’t think about her much anymore. She hadn’t even had time to say good-bye when they had left New York last year.

It was the first time she’d seen her mother since Allegra had appeared on Corcovado holding a sword.

Allegra looked at Schuyler sternly. “He is right, you know. The Conduits always are. You cannot live this way. The transformation will kill you without the proper guidance and care. You cannot risk your life like this.”

“But I can’t go home,” Schuyler said. “As much as I want to, I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“I can’t!” Schuyler rubbed her eyes.