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Between Kingsley and Oliver and the skeleton crew of hard-living Venators, their flat—a Venator safe house—was crawling with girls. At first Schuyler had been amused at their bachelor lifestyle—it was such a contrast to her and Jack’s quiet domicile as newlyweds in Alexandria. But her patience had been worn thin by the constant parade of lovely “English chippies” or “Chelsea birds” who flocked to their apartment. The bathrooms stunk of perfume, the kitchen counter was always lined with lipstick-stained wineglasses, and once she had even pulled a pair of lacy underthings from beneath the couch pillows.
Schuyler downed her glass and Kingsley appeared at her elbow with a magnum of Bolly. She raised her hand in protest, but it was futile. He filled it to the top until the bubbles overflowed.
“Bingo, Archie, Gig, and the rest of the crew are talking of streaking through the crowd on the Thames—you guys in?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
“In this weather?” Oliver balked.
“Come on, man, it’ll be a hoot!” Kingsley said.
Oliver hesitated. He looked at Schuyler, who shook her head. “You’ll be all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine, go ahead. Kingsley’s right, it’ll be fun.” Schuyler smiled at the two of them as they joined the merry crew already shedding clothing at the front door.
Since the three of them had arrived in town, they had accomplished a lot, including identifying the physical location of the Gate of Promise, a closely guarded secret that only they shared. Kingsley, as the highest-ranking among them (Schuyler had not yet achieved a real place in their society), had sent word out to the remaining Covens to come to London and await orders, and little by little, vampires had made their way back into the city. A number of them were at the party that night, but they were anxious and suspicious, and many were talking about returning underground instead. They had no idea what they were waiting for, and Schuyler wasn’t yet ready to tell them. Kingsley had cautioned against sharing what they knew of Lucifer’s plan—fearing more traitors within their midst.
The Gate of Promise had been established during the glory days of the Roman Empire, when the Order of the Seven was founded, with the discovery of the Paths of the Dead. Allegra Van Alen, or Gabrielle, as was her true name, determined that the Gate of Promise was bisected, and that while one path led to the underworld, another path, a secret path, led back to the paradise they had lost. Charles Force, the archangel Michael, had suspected such a path existed, and it was why he had ordered the paths to be guarded but not destroyed.
So what had happened in Rome? Why had Gabrielle kept her discovery a secret from Michael? It had been during the Crisis in Rome that the Blue Bloods had discovered that the Silver Bloods were hiding among them. Caligula was unmasked as Lucifer, but the archangel Michael had triumphed, sending him back to the underworld. The Silver Bloods were supposed to have been defeated. But instead, they continued to thrive in the shadows, and to menace the Blue Bloods for centuries after, preying on the young, until the present chaos. The victory Michael had won had been temporary at best.
Gabrielle’s daughter will bring us salvation. She will lead the Fallen back into Paradise. Her grandfather Lawrence Van Alen had always believed it, and Schuyler knew in her heart that he was right, that she held the key. There was just one problem: she had no idea what that meant. The gate was immovable, as solid as a vault, and immune to every spell and incantation she threw at it. She had been trying for months and failing. Time was running out—the Dark Prince had set his sights on destroying the gate and was gathering his forces for battle to reclaim the throne he had been denied. The Silver Bloods could attack at any moment and take up the rebellion that had been subdued so long ago.
So where do I fit in? How do I fulfill my legacy?
Schuyler was still mulling over the questions when the boys trooped back in, cheeks blazing red from the cold, in various states of undress—Kingsley stripped to the waist, his strong chest heaving with deep breaths as he sprawled down on the couch in his tuxedo pants; Oliver standing in his boxer shorts, holding a f
lask of whiskey and grinning.
“You didn’t get caught? I thought the bobbies were out in force,” Schuyler said, taking a seat across from them and crossing her arms, feeling a bit like a schoolmarm tending to her naughty pupils. “Where’s everyone else?”
“After-party in Notting Hill,” replied Oliver as he threw the flask to Kingsley, who caught it and took a slug.
“Jolly good show,” Kingsley said to Oliver. “Didn’t think you’d be able to keep up with us.”
Oliver smirked, flexing his broad shoulders. All those workouts in the underworld had paid off. “Your age is showing, old man.…”
“Anyway—good news, yeah?” Kingsley said. “Tell her.”
“Tell me what?” Schuyler asked, fully expecting to hear of some new conquest one of them had made.
“While we were running across the riverbank, we bumped into someone.” Oliver grinned.
“Who?”
“Lucas Mendrion, a retired Venator captain. He—ahem—recognized Kingsley.”
“Venator tattoo,” Kingsley explained with a smirk. “Invisible to the human eye.”
Oliver ignored him. “He said he didn’t know any vampires were still around—he’d thought everyone had gone underground—he hadn’t heard Kingsley had sent out a bulletin, and we got to talking and it turned out he’d been one of Gabrielle’s Protectors during Rome.”
“What’s that?”
“Exactly what it means. Venators assigned to her protection,” Oliver said.
“And?” Schuyler leaned forward.
“He said he has something important to tell you.” Kingsley grinned. “About your mother’s legacy.”
“You think it might be about the three remaining gatekeepers?” Schuyler asked. She had thought that if anyone knew anything to help them unlock the secret of the Gate of Promise, it would be one of the surviving members of the original order. Three left of the original Order of the Seven—Onbasius, Pantaleum, and Octilla were still alive, their whereabouts unknown.
