The Van Alen Legacy

“I know you are afraid of what will happen when you return. But you must face your fear, Schuyler. If you and Abbadon are meant to be, then there is nothing that any-one—not him, not even you—can do to stop it.”


Her mother was right. She didn’t want to go home because then Jack would be so, so, so very close. Jack, who was still free . . . Jack, who had kissed her so passionately . . . who could still be hers. . . . But if she kept away, then she wouldn’t be tempted to see him and betray Oliver.

“You cannot be with someone just because you don’t want to hurt him. You have your own happiness to think about,” Allegra said.

“But even if we’re together, it will only kill Jack,” Schuyler said. “It’s against the Code. And he’ll diminish . . .”

“If he will take the risk to be with you, who are you to tell him what to do with his life? Look at me. Look at how much I risked to be with your father.”

“My father is dead. And you’re in a coma. I practically grew up an orphan,” Schuyler said, not even trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She had never known her father—he had died before she was born. As for Allegra— well, there wasn’t much of a relationship anyone could have with a living corpse, now was there. “Tell me, Mother, was it worth it? Was your ‘great’ love for my father worth what has happened to your family?” She couldn’t keep herself from saying such hurtful things. But everything spilled out after years of living alone.

She loved her mother, she did. But she didn’t want an angel who only appeared once in a lifetime to give her some enchanted sword. Schuyler wanted a real parent: one who was there for her when she cried, who encouraged and prodded and annoyed her—a little bit—only because they cared so much. She wanted someone ordinary. Like Oliver’s mom. She had no idea how Mrs. H-P knew where they would be, but every few months a package would arrive at their hotel, and inside would be chocolates and new socks and things they didn’t even know they needed, like flashlights and batteries.

Allegra sighed. “I understand your disappointment in me. I hope that one day you will understand and forgive. There are consequences to every action. It is true, I have deep, deep regrets sometimes. But without your father I would never have had you. I was only with you for such a brief moment of time, but I treasured every moment—with you and your father. I would do it all over again if I had to. So yes. It was worth it.”

“I don’t believe you,” Schuyler said. “No one in their right mind would choose your life.”

“Be that as it may, come home, daughter. I am waiting for you. Come home.”





THIRTY-EIGHT

Mimi


When Mimi opened her eyes, the auction room had slipped away and she was in the sanctuary, a small room with four walls made of stained glass. Of course, in the glom, it had never been destroyed.

She stood in a circle with the five other members; Forsyth, the seventh, stood in the middle. They were dressed in long black hooded robes. Like a bunch of grim reapers, Mimi thought. So much of the Blue Blood ways had seeped into popular culture—but twisted and stripped of their gravity.

“Welcome, everyone,” Forsyth Llewellyn said, looking very puffed up and self-satisfied. Perfectly natural, Mimi thought, as he was assuming the highest office in the land, as head of a secret government the Red Bloods didn’t even know existed. His work as a senator was completely perfunctory. Mimi heard he had done only superficial work toward helping to resolve the financial crisis that held the country in its grip.

Mimi had not been a full-serving member of the Conclave when Lawrence had been elected, but she had a vague idea of the proceedings.

Seymour Corrigan called the roll and started the ceremony. “Since the early days of this world, our Regis holds the soul of the Coven in his heart. But before he is chosen, he must be blessed by the Seven, and so we have gathered here today for the benediction.” It was a ceremony that went back to ancient Egypt. Except this time there would be no false beard of goat’s hair, no magic scepter, no symbolic leather whip, no crown of ostrich feathers. But the fundamentals were the same.

Warden Corrigan began the tabulation, calling out to the great houses by their names from the Sacred Language.

“What say you, Domus Magnificat?” The House of Riches was represented by Josiah Rockefeller Archibald, whose family had built the center on which they stood.

“We say aye,” he murmured.

“What say you, Domus Septem Sanctimonialis?”

“We say aye,” said Alice Whitney, who was the last of the line of the House of the Seven Sisters.

“What say you, Domus Veritas?” Of course the Venators were represented on the council, but Mimi was curious as to why Abe Tompkins spoke for them. He hadn’t been an active Venator for many years.

“We say aye,” old Abe responded.

“What say you, Domus Preposito?” The House of the Stewards was a title that had always been given to the family nearest to the Regis. The Llewellyns currently had that honor.