The Van Alen Legacy

Forsyth Llwellyn smiled. “We say aye.”


“What say you, Domus Stella Aquillo?” The House of the Northern Star was one of the biggest benefactors of art programs in the country. Ambrose Barlow looked nervously at Minerva Morgan. He bowed his head and whispered, “Aye.”

There were only two houses left. Next to her, Mimi felt Minerva Morgan’s anxiety. “What say you, Domus Domina?” The House of the Gray Lady. Death House, but no one called it that. The family that was in charge of the records, of the cycles of expression and expulsion.

Minerva Morgan did not respond.

“Domus Domina?” Seymour Corrigan cleared his throat. “Domus Domina!”

Minerva Morgan sighed. “Aye.”

“Domus Lamia says aye,” Warden Corrigan said, a bit grumpily. The House of the Vampyres; an old title, and the head of the Conspiracy.

Mimi braced herself. She was next.

Warden Corrigan coughed. “What say Domus Fortis Valerius Incorruputus. House of the Pure Blood, of the Uncorrupted, of the Valiant and the Strong, Protector of the Garden, Commander of the Lord’s Armies? What say you?”

That was Michael’s line. Gabrielle’s line. The Van Alen line, now bastardized by the Force name. Mimi raised her voice. “We say . . .” She wavered. She thought of Minerva Morgan’s uncertainty. Ambrose Barlow, who was so old they had all thought he was senile. And yet he had brought in that piece of paper. Had brought it to her. They were counting on her. An anonymous note, but an important one. They were right. They could not discount its message.

Mimi suddenly understood that Ambrose and Minerva could not do it themselves, but they very much wanted her to. She was young, but she outranked them by far. She represented the house that had led this Coven of immortals for centuries upon centuries. The house that would now be stripped of its power by the very ritual they were undertaking.

She hadn’t thought about it until today, but it suddenly hit home that they were just going to hand over the Coven to Forsyth Llewellyn? Who was Forsyth Llewellyn anyway? Mimi scanned her memories. A minor angel. A minor deity. A steward. He was no Regis.

She could do this. She had battled Silver Bloods and sent demons back to Hades. She would stand up when others could not. “The House of the Pure Blood would like to render their objection to this proceeding,” she said clearly and confidently.

“Objection?” Seymour Corrigan looked confused.

“We say no.” Mimi said.

“No?” Corrigan asked again.

“No.” More clearly this time.

Forsyth, for his part, looked composed.

“I just don’t understand why we need to do this—move the spirit of the Coven to a new leader when my father is still alive!” Mimi burst out. She took a deep breath. “Therefore I must object.”

“The White Vote must be unanimous,” Warden Corrigan said worriedly. “We cannot move the Coven to Forsyth’s safekeeping unless it is a unanimous vote by the seven families.” He looked lost, while Ambrose and Minerva looked relieved. Everyone else looked to Forsyth for guidance.

Mimi noticed that, White Vote or not, he was already their leader.

“We shall stay the installation as Warden Force wishes,” Forsyth said smoothly. “I have no desire to assume a role that not everyone agrees is mine. And I too am distressed by Charles’s disappearance. We shall wait.”

One by one they popped back into the proceedings at the auction room. Mimi realized she was still holding her hand up, as she had been in the glom.

The auctioneer gave her a brilliant smile. “And Portrait de Femme (Fran?oise Gilot) goes to . . . the beautiful young lady in the front row!”

She had just bought a Picasso.





THIRTY-NINE

Bliss