Melissa de la Cruz - THE VAN ALEN LEGACY

“Thanks,” Kingsley said. “Didn’t know you cared so much.” He grinned as he made quick work of a boy holding an Uzi.

Mimi laughed. She’d hardly broken a sweat, although she was breathing heavily. As Kingsley ordered, their combatants would live to see another day. She stepped over the heap of bodies, Ted helping her over to join them by the bar.

The bartender came out from underneath a table, bowing in gratitude. “What can I get you?”

“What’s the specialty of this place?” Kingsley asked.

“Ah?” The bartender shot them a toothless grin. “Get the Leblon,” he told the barback, whose cut had stopped bleeding. The boy disappeared into the back closet and came out bearing a bottle of cachana: sugarcane rum. The bartender poured it into four shot glasses.

“Breakfast.” Kingsley nodded and picked up his glass.

“Saude,” Mimi said, downing her drink in one go. To your health. “We’re looking for this girl. Have you seen her?” Kingsley asked, showing their new friends Jordan’s photograph. “tell us,” he said, using a small compulsion.

The boy shook his head, while the bartender looked at the picture for a long time. Then he too shook his head slowly. “I have never seen her in my life. But this is not a place where people bring children.” Mimi and Kingsley exchanged glances, and the twins? shoulders slumped slightly. They left the bar after finishing the bottle. It was midday. The sun was high and the weather was at a broil. A few curious onlookers had crowded around the bar entrance, drawn by the fight, but they kept a fair distance from the foursome. The stares were respectful. No one had ever lived to defeat the Silver Command.

“For you,” an elderly lady said, handing Mimi a water bottle. “Obrigado.”

The woman crossed herself, and Mimi understood it as a gesture of gratitude for bringing a small measure of justice to a lawless place.

“Thank you,” Mimi said, accepting the water with a nod. Once again she was struck by how helpless she felt.

These people’s problems are not your own, she told herself. You cannot help them.

She felt very far away from the sheltered, exclusive world of the Upper East Side as she stood on a dusty sidewalk in the slums, her muscles still tense from the encounter. This was why she had signed up for the mission, to shake up her life a little bit, to see a side of the world that wasn’t available from the backseat of a limousine. She might be a spoiled princess in this incarnation, but she was a warrior by nature. Azrael needed this.

But it was frustrating. They’d set out a year ago to find the Watcher and still had nothing to show for their efforts, save for a letter that didn’t tell them anything.

“Maybe the Watcher doesn’t want to be found,” Mimi said, taking a chug of water and passing it to Kingsley. “Ever think of that?”

“It’s possible,” he said after taking a gulp and throwing the bottle to one of the Lennoxes. “But unlikely. She knows how valuable her wisdom is to our community. She knew they would send me to find her. Believe me, she wants to be found.”

“Let me see the note again,” Mimi said. Kingsley handed her the piece of paper. She reread the note. As she held up the paper, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before. Something that had been hidden in the dawn, when it had been too dark to see clearly.

“Look,” she said to Kingsley, holding the note up so it was facing the direct rays of the sun.

Sunlight shone brightly through the paper, revealing something that had formerly been invisible, like a watermark. Phoebus ostend praeeo, indeed. The sun shall show the way.

In the middle of the page was a map.

CHAPTER 21

Schuyler

“It’s this way,” Jack said. “When I was a kid, the cooks used to chase me out of here.”

He showed Schuyler the secret passageways that twisted through the building’s vast storerooms underneath the castle. Historically, the home had been built to accommodate an entire court of nobles. There was a full servants’ wing, and the kitchens and pantries went down three levels. When the count was still alive, the royal couple had hosted lavish month long parties for guests and their entourages.

The castle was meant to sustain what had become an increasingly outdated, not to mention incredibly expensive, lifestyle. No wonder the developers planned to chop it up into apartments. Living with a staff of sixty had become untenable even to the countess, who was moving to her villa in Saint-Tropez with a much more moderate household.

But while the property boasted dozens of hidden rooms and mazelike passageways, in the end there was only one way out of the H’tel Lambert. Everyone, from the highest ranking nobleman to the humblest kitchen steward, had to go through the central courtyard and out the main gates. Jack and Schuyler found they didn’t have a choice: they would have to walk through the vipers’ nest to freedom.

The staircase from the servants’ quarters led straight into the main hall, where Jack and Schuyler could hear the sounds of hysterical laughter and uncontrollable gaiety, which sounded more overwrought and frantic as the dizzying music gained speed and volume.

“What are they doing?” Schuyler whispered as they huddled behind one of the fluted columns. “Why do I feel . . . like . . . like I want to . . . to hurt someone?”

“It’s what the Silver Bloods do, they “push”, they use the glom like we do, except they push in the opposite direction. They bring out the worst in people.”

“Shouldn’t we warn everyone?” she asked.

“This isn’t Rio. There are too many of us to overpower; the Silver Bloods will not risk anything more dangerous than compulsion. They are only here for you,” Jack said, trying to blunt the difficulty of their situation with another reassuring smile.

Schuyler did not want to be swallowed up by her fear, and steadied herself by concentrating on fighting the rising overwhelming sickness she felt from the Silver Bloods’ spell.

They had to find Oliver, and then they had to get out of here as quietly as possible. She had made a huge ruckus in running away from Jack, but the over-the-top antics of the Bollywood musical numbers had covered up most of that. The guests had figured she was part of the show, especially given the way she was dressed. In her sari she had blended right in.

“Here,” Jack said, handing her a small silver crucifix on a chain. “It should help.” He pulled out a similar one from underneath his shirt. “Part of the Venator uniform.”

They crept out to the garden and found Oliver standing by himself under a majestic beech tree, holding a drink. If he was surprised to see Schuyler with Jack, he didn’t show it except for a slight raise of his eyebrows, although it pained Schuyler to notice that a little light went out in his eyes when he saw them together.

It’s not what you think, she wanted to tell him. I love you.

Regardless, when Oliver turned to Jack, he was genial and gave him an overly hearty handshake.

“Good to see you, man. Been a long time.”

For his part, Jack shook Oliver’s hand with a firm grip. The two of them were intent on acting as if they had bumped into each other at the Senior Fling. Just a bunch of Upper East Side preppies catching up on news and gossip.

“So what brings you here, Force? Not the Committee I hope,” Oliver said, his light tone masking a wary undercurrent.

“Not at all,” Jack said, as Schuyler quickly brought Oliver up to speed. Once apprised, Oliver immediately understood the danger they were in.

“So, what do you guys have in mind?” he asked them. “I have a feeling we’re not going to be able to get out of here quietly.”

“So far they haven’t noticed that Schuyler is not in that room waiting for the countess anymore,” Jack said, looking around. “I think we can make it to Lu?” But before Jack could finish his sentence, he stopped, looking up with a startled expression on his face.