Misguided Angel Page 17

  “And according to you he’s able to manipulate his affectus. You’d better be careful down there,” Sam warned. “Are you sure we can’t talk you out of this?”

  “No. I need to do this,” Deming said. What had Paul said to her? I heard about you, that you were coming. He had been able to prepare. He knew all about her. He knew that she relied on her talent, her facile way of knowing what was so hard for other Venators to read. He knew she would be proud of it, arrogant even. He had found a way to use her talent against her.

  But he hadn’t counted on her ability to learn from her mistakes. She might have been fooled once, but he was wrong to think she would fall for a love story again.

  “Right. But even if we can’t find him on this side, we’ll find him in the glom. I’m going in. We have a DeathWalk to complete.”

  * * *

  Every vampire experienced the glom in a different way. For Deming, the twilight world manifested as an empty plaza in the middle of the Forbidden City, in Beijing. It had been years since she had seen the Forbidden City this way in real life. Nowadays it was crowded with so many tourists it was hard to comprehend the magnitude of its beauty. But in the glom, the ancient walled city was silent and empty.

  She walked past the guardhouse, through the Outer Court to the Inner one, taking the Imperial Way, a path that was only reserved for the Emperor, until she was standing in the steps of the Hall of Mental Cultivation, which meant she was deep in the protoconscious. In the physical world, her heart stopped beating. She walked the line between the worlds, in the thin membrane that separated the living and the dead.

  Paul was waiting for her at the steps of the farthest pavilion. In the glom, his soul was even more beautiful than his eyes. He smiled sadly at her. “I knew you would find me.”

  Deming walked up to him. Her wings beat against her back. She could choose to appear to him in any form, and came to him as the Angel of Mercy. “Why did you kill them?”

  “It’s a long story,” he said, putting her hand against his cheek.

  “Does it begin in Florence? In the fifteenth century?”

  Paul’s face lit up. “Why yes. You were getting there, weren’t you?”

  “You saw the Repository files in my bag. You knew I would find out. That’s why you conjured the illusion that afternoon. The girl in your car who was meant to be Victoria.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “So tell me, what happened in Florence?”

  “It’s simple, really. Stuart and Victoria were part of a sect. They were called the Petruvians. Ghastly group, really. Butchers. Murderers. The worst kind of slayer. They killed in the name of peace, in the name of justice, in the name of God. They killed my mother.”

  “They must have had good reason,” Deming protested. “The Code of the Vampires would never allow—”

  “The Code of the Vampires does not protect the innocent!” Paul snapped. “The Code only serves to protect the vampires. No one else matters.”

  “You’re wrong. The Code was created to protect humans. It always has.”

  Then Deming realized: the symbol of union in the video. Silver Bloods had mated with human women. Paul Rayburn was demon born, Nephilim. The bastard child of Croatan and Red Blood. “You should not exist,” she said. “The vampires were not given the gift of creating life.” Even Allegra’s daughter was considered Abomination by some of the community. No one knew how Schuyler came into being.

  “And yet I do. And I am not the only one. Take heed, vampire. For you are not the only orphans of the Almighty on this earth.”

  Paul raised his hand, and Deming could see he was carrying a zhanmadao, a two-handed saber that glittered with hellfire. “I am so very sorry, for I did not lie to you about my love, my sweet Venator. But I cannot allow you to live. The Mistress will keep her secrets.”

  Deming removed the chopsticks from her hair and raised the long sharp blade of Mercy-Killer. “I am sorry as well. My love for you was real.”

  The demon boy smiled. “Yes, you have made me your familiar. Alas, the Caerimonia will not allow you to harm me. My blood is your own.”

  He was right, of course. The Sacred Kiss ingrained a loyalty in its vampires so that a Blue Blood would never be able to deliberately harm one’s familiar after first bite. The biggest danger was in taking a human to Full Consumption because of bloodlust. After the Sacred Kiss was sealed, the human would forever be safe from their vampire.

  Deming stared at Paul. His shirt collar was open, and she saw it again. Right at his neck. The triglyph with the symbols from the original hostage video. The sword piercing a star: Lucifer’s mark. The sign of union. Last, the image of the lamb.

  She had seen it first when she had taken him into her arms and pierced him with her fangs. She had chosen him; she had made him hers. She had done it out of love and duty. He had asked her not to—but only so that her resolution to do exactly what he wanted would be even stronger.

  “There’s only one problem with that rule,” Deming said as she raised her sword. “You’re not human.” So that was why his blood had tasted strange. The bitterness of it came from the taste of coal and the underworld.

  Paul tried to block her with his blade, but her sword cleaved his in two. He gasped and fell to his knees, and for the first time, he looked afraid. “Think of your love for me,” he begged.

  Deming looked down at him pitilessly. “I am,” she told him, and with all the strength she had, she struck her blade deep into his heart.

  The Mistress

  Florence, 1452

  The highest tower in Florence was the unfinished dome, and once again, Tomi and Gio scaled the masonry to the top of the building.

  “There’s nothing here,” Gio said, shaking his head.

  Tomi took one more walk around the edge. She looked up at the night sky through the open ceiling. Then she knelt down and tapped on stone floor. It was hollow. The top of the dome might not be finished, but the floor below it was complete.

  “Down the stairs,” Tomi said. “Follow me.”

  The topmost landing was an empty hallway, save for one secret door. Tomi pushed against it, and it opened at her bidding.

  Inside, there was a human female. One of the greatest beauties in Florence, whose portrait was painted by many of the city’s greatest artists, all of whom were in love with her.

  “Simonetta!” Tomi cried. Simonetta de Vespucci was married to a nobleman in the Medici circle and was rumored to be no other than the great Lorenzo de Medici’s beloved mistress. She had not been seen in the city for a while, and now Tomi knew why.

  “Do not come near me!” Simonetta cried, protecting her burgeoning belly. She was nine months pregnant.

  When she hugged her stomach, Tomi noticed a mark on her arm. It was the same as the one carried by the man from the Citadel.

  Simonetta was no mistress to the Medici.

  “Who is your lover?” Gio demanded. “Who is the father of your baby?”

  Tomi understood what he was really asking—under whose guise does the Dark Prince walk the earth once again? The Morningstar had returned, it was clear. But in whose form?

  When Simonetta answered, Tomi was not surprised.

  The girl named Andreas as the father of her baby.

  PART THE FOURTH

  FORKS IN

  THE ROAD

  FORTY-ONE

  The Petruvian Order (Schuyler)

  Schuyler found a small room for MariElena in the northwest corner of Santa Maria del Fiore, in a small hidden ancillary building that housed the Petruvian Order in the Basilica complex. They had arrived in Florence a few hours ago. When Schuyler released him from her compulsion, Ghedi had insisted they take the girl to the priests.

  It was a relief to be back in the world again, and the sight of the busy Italian streets, with tourists crammed into the plaza, had invigorated her.

  As far as she and Jack could tell, there were very few Petruvians left. They had counted only a handful of priests upon their
arrival. The clerics had housed them in a room next to MariElena’s, where they waited until the holy men were ready to meet them.

  There was a knock on their door, and another young African priest entered the room. “We are ready for you. Please come with me.”

  He led them through dark passageways into a simple room. In contrast to the magnitude of the complex, it was a plain room with a table and chairs. Ghedi and two older priests were waiting.

  Schuyler and Jack took seats across from them.

  “I am Father Arnoldi. I understand that you stopped Father Awale from performing the cleansing rite.”

  “Cleansing! He was going to kill her,” Schuyler protested. “Explain to me how murder is possibly any part of your work.”

  “When the order was founded by Father Linardi, we were given two directives by the Blessed Ones, and one was the continued purge of the Mistress’s children.”

  “The Mistress?” Jack asked.

  The priest nodded. “Lucifer’s first human bride. It is said he gave her the gift of eternal life but she was destroyed by the first Petruvians.”

  “Who are the Blessed Ones?” Schuyler asked.

  “The vampires, like yourselves. Our founders.”

  “You’re telling me that Blue Bloods sanctioned the killing of humans? Of innocent women?” Schuyler demanded.

  “They have been marked with the triglyph,” the priest said, bowing his head. “They carry the Nephilim. For hundreds of years we have held fast to our mission. We guard the gate. We hunt down the contaminated.”

  “The gate is a lie. Hellsmouth is nothing but a smoke screen. There is no gate there,” Schuyler declared.

  The priests balked. “It is a sacred space. . . . That cannot be.”

  “It is,” Schuyler said. “We were there.”

  “You entered the gate.” Father Arnoldi looked sharply at Ghedi. “That is not allowed.” As Jack had guessed, the human gatekeepers had been ordered to stay away from the site.

  Ghedi bowed his head. “It was necessary. The girl was there.”

  “We were led there. Whoever took MariElena, they wanted us to know it was false,” Jack explained. “They are taunting us.”

  “Ghedi said Father Baldessarre was worried about certain things?” Schuyler asked.

  The priests shifted in their seats and looked uncomfortable. “Lately, there have been too many taken. Each year only one, or two at the most. But now we hear too many reports, and each is the same. The girls are taken, and when we find them, they carry the mark.”

  “You will not kill MariElena,” Schuyler warned.

  The old priest looked at her balefully. “She carries a dangerous enemy. It is better for her to die.”

  Schuyler realized something. When they had first asked Ghedi to explain his connection to his grandfather, Ghedi had told them a story of his mother’s death. “Ghedi, your mother, she had been taken. . . .”

  “Yes.” Ghedi nodded. “She carried the mark. It burned in her skin. And her belly grew. She began to have visions and shakes. She spoke of Hell.”

  “You told us she died in childbirth, and that the priests took you as an orphan. But the Petruvians killed her, didn’t they? And took you in afterward.”

  He did not deny it.

  “And yet you do not hate them,” she marveled.

  “My mother was damned, Schuyler. And the child could not live. Not in this world.”

  “We will not allow you to harm MariElena,” Schuyler said. “There has to be a way to heal her.”

  The conversation came to a stalemate, and the meeting adjourned. Back in their room, Schuyler rummaged through Lawrence’s notes. “I think I found something that links Father Linardi, the first Petruvian, to Catherine of Siena.” She held up a sheaf of letters. “I didn’t think they were important, but now I do. Jack, these are love letters. Benedictus was Catherine’s human familiar. She ordered him to guard this false gate. Which means that the real gate is still somewhere here.”

  Schuyler tied the sheets excitedly. “Catherine was guarding the real gate, and used the Petruvians as a decoy.”

  “But the Croatan know the gate is false, and if they are taking women, it means that the real gate, wherever it is, has been compromised somehow,” Jack said.

  “But if that’s the case, wouldn’t this whole countryside be overrun with demons already?”

  “Not exactly. What did Ghedi say? The raiders who took his mother—the flesh traders who took MariElena—they were human. Michael’s strength still keeps the demons in the underworld.”

  “But it doesn’t keep humans out.” Schuyler nodded. “They’re taking the girls to Hell. That was why I couldn’t locate MariElena in the glom.

  “We have to find Catherine. We have to tell her what’s been happening here. This whole thing must be a mistake. The Blue Bloods can’t have allowed this. . . . Michael and Gabrielle would never . . . Something has gone very wrong here.

  “We’ll find Catherine,” Schuyler said resolutely. “I have a feeling she can’t be far. Lawrence thought she might be in Alexandria. He had meant to go there, but he’d wanted to check out Father Baldessarre first.” She put away her grandfather’s papers, and when she looked up, Jack’s eyes were bright.

  What is wrong, my darling? she sent, and walked over to take his hand. We are safe. We will fight this horror.

  “I cannot go with you to Egypt,” Jack said, gripping her hand tightly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There will be more bounty hunters. We got lucky this time. But I cannot put you in any more danger. I must go back and face Mimi.”

  Schuyler did not say a word, and held Jack’s hand even tighter.

  “This is the only way, my love,” Jack said. “For the two of us to be free, I must face the blood trial. I could never face myself if you ever came to harm because of me.”

  Schuyler trembled. “They will burn you,” she whispered.

  “Do you have so little faith in me?”

  “I will go with you,” she said, even though she knew she would not. She had to finish her grandfather’s work. She had to carry on the legacy. Innocent women and children were being slain in the name of the Blessed.

  “No. You know you must not,” Jack said.

  You said we would never be separated, ever again.

  And we will not. Not ever. There is a way to be together always. Jack dropped to his knees and looked up at Schuyler with so much love. “Will you?”

  Schuyler gasped and pulled him to his feet. She was ecstatic and devastated at the same time. “Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes.”

  It was decided, then. Shuyler would look for Catherine of Siena and the true Gate of Promise, while Jack would return to New York to fight for his freedom. But before they went their separate ways, they would seal their bond.

  FORTY-TWO

  The Road to Hell (Mimi)

  Mimi Force looked up at the Repository scribe sitting in front of her. “The Venators have crushed the coup.

  There will be no disbandment. For now the Coven stands.”

  “I heard. Congratulations.”

  “They’re going to stick together and stick with me for now.” Mimi pursed her lips. “If they know what’s best for them.”

  “I can’t imagine you had me fetched from the basement just to crow over your victory, as deserved as it may be.”

  “You’re right; there’s something else. The Repository report came in on the blood spell that hit me.”

  “And?”

  “It was not sent by a member of the Conclave, nor from any vampire in this Coven.”

  “No?”

  “No—and it wasn’t from the Nephilim that Deming killed either.”

  “Then who?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what we need to find out. And there was something else,” she said. “When the report came in, I also got back the coat I was wearing that day. I found this in it.” She showed him a cross, monogrammed with the initials O.H.P. “It’
s yours, isn’t it?”

  Oliver nodded.

  “You put a talisman in my pocket. The only thing that can deflect a blood spell. I survived because of you.”

  “I had a feeling you’d need it. But I didn’t want to tell you because you probably wouldn’t have accepted a talisman from me.”

  “You’re right, I wouldn’t have.” She would never have believed that protection from a Red Blood could amount to anything. The blood spell was the essence of malice, and a protection was its opposite. It was a form of self-sacrifice—fashioning a talisman meant that whoever gave it went unprotected himself, vulnerable to whatever evil lurked in the universe.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Oliver said.

  “I haven’t.”

  “I mean, it’s just my job. Can’t have the Regent die on my watch, can I?”

  “I suppose not.” Mimi couldn’t look him in the eyes. He wasn’t her type, even though he wasn’t bad-looking, and most girls would probably find him cute, with those long bangs and puppy dog eyes. But no—that was not the emotion she was feeling.

  She was feeling something else. Gratitude. Affection. She had never felt this way for a boy before. She had experienced desire and lust and the agony of love, but had never fallen in like.

  She liked him. Oliver, she was beginning to realize, in the space of just a few weeks, was her friend, and she was his. They had never cared for each other in the past, but somehow, because they were both alone and in mourning, he understood where she was coming from, and didn’t judge her for her fits of grief and rage. He’d been there. He was feeling it too.

  Plus, they worked together well. Because there was no attraction, no tension, they could laugh and tease and joke around. In the middle of this crazy mess, she’d made a friend.

  “Don’t,” he warned.