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“Didn’t you say your friend Oliver was a Conduit?” Lawson asked.
Bliss nodded, trying not to panic. Oliver—dead? There was no way. Mimi would not allow that to happen. Bliss quickly looked through the files to see if his name was there. “His file’s missing,” she said, somewhat relieved. “He might still be alive. We have to find him.”
“Why is he so important?” Lawson asked. “Were you two, like, close?”
Was she imagining things, or did he sound a little jealous? Was it wrong that she hoped he was? “Oliver’s just a friend,” she said gently. “He was Schuyler’s Conduit, and I think more than that, for a while, but there was never anything between us,” she said firmly. “If we could find him, though, he might be able to tell us what happened. Or help us find Schuyler. He’s never that far from her.”
She realized she still had the notebooks she’d taken from Oliver’s apartment. She took one out and skimmed the pages, but it was all gibberish. It didn’t take her long to figure out it was a code—Oliver had just moved every letter over by three. She started making out words, though it was hard to tell how they were significant. Freya? Egypt? She flipped to the e-mail printout, which she now discovered was addressed to Oliver’s parents. “Hand me a pen, would you?” she said.
Lawson waited patiently while Bliss decoded the last paragraph of the e-mail. Finally, she raised her head in triumph. “He’s in London. Something about the gates. Schuyler’s with him. They’re staying at a Venator safe house. They must have received the same bulletin Renfield was talking about.”
“Does it mention where the house is?”
“No, but we can find it. We just need to get there.” And then she remembered. “Jane! She’s in London too. How could I have forgotten?” Jane Murray, the Watcher, had told her that the Venators were gathering in the British capital and for Bliss to meet them there.
Lawson’s brow furrowed. “London? We just got to New York.”
Bliss realized Lawson had never really been in a city before, and now she was carting him all over the globe. She knew it made him uncomfortable to have to rely on her, to trust that she knew what she was doing.
“It’s going to be fine,” she said. “We just have to get plane tickets and passports and some clothes, and we can get out of here.”
“You’ve got a magic wand?” He smirked.
“Something better. A Park Avenue apartment,” she said. Her apartment! Penthouse du Rêves. She hadn’t been there in what felt like forever. There was no reason to think it wasn’t still there: she was the sole beneficiary of her foster parents’ largesse, and while the Repository had been destroyed, she had a feeling the Silver Bloods had left the apartment alone. After all, it had belonged to one of their own—Forsyth Llewellyn, when he was alive, had been Lucifer’s closest ally.
“I don’t have a passport,” Lawson said. “And what about my brothers, and Ahramin? I need to check in with them.”
“We will. I can arrange for a passport for you, I know I can. We’ll make sure everything is okay with the pack before we leave. Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine.” Bliss was back in New York City, back home, and she felt invigorated, glad to be useful instead of helpless.
“If you say so,” Lawson said. But he didn’t look so sure.
SIXTEEN
Schuyler
nce in a while, Schuyler missed him so much it was hard to put into words. She’d only known him for such a short time before he was taken from her. Nevertheless, he was always on her mind. Lawrence Van Alen. Her grandfather. The vampire who had taught her the four factors of the glom, who taught her about her legacy, who prepared her for her task.
It was amazing how much Peter Pendragon reminded her of Lawrence. Something in the haughty way he greeted her, his aristocratic mien and aloof manner. As Oliver explained, the Knights Templar was a splinter group of Venators, devoted to protecting the holy relics. But as time passed, their importance to the Covens had diminished and their ranks thinned. Peter Pendragon was one of the last remaining members.
They met him in his study at Marlborough Farm, a sprawling estate a few hours away from the city. The grand old manor had seen better days, most of its windows shuttered, dust motes flying in the air, furniture covered in sheets of fabric. The house was a beautiful ruin, like many historical homes in England that were too expensive for the upkeep, left to linger and decay. Perhaps that was why Schuyler felt at home in the shrouded, dark manor—it reminded her of her own home in New York City. She had been a child among phantoms, surrounded by memories of a better time, living in a dark, secluded place, with only her formidable grandmother as a companion.
She felt that watchful presence again; it came and went, and while it was troubling to feel as if she were being observed, there wasn’t much she could do about it. For now, whoever or whatever it was seemed to be benign enough.
“So you are Allegra’s daughter,” Peter said, looking Schuyler up and down. “And you have come to London to unlock the secret of the Gate of Promise.”
“Yes. Tilly St. James sent us. She said you were part of Gabrielle’s old team, just like her and Lucas Mendrion.”
“I was,” he said. “Come, sit down. Will you have tea?”
Schuyler declined politely, feeling as if the world were on a knife’s edge, and all she was doing was drinking champagne and sipping tea while her love was lost and Rome burned.
“Nice spread,” Oliver said, admiring the furnishings. Schuyler nudged him with her elbow, annoyed.
“What?” he asked. Kingsley’s cockiness
was wearing off on him.
Pendragon turned to Schuyler. “I know Mendrion and the rest of the Coven are going underground. But I will stay here and make my stand. Besides, I heard through the Venators that something is happening in London soon. Your arrival is fortuitous, I think. Gabrielle’s daughter. That I am alive in this cycle to meet you is a wonder.
