Gates of Paradise

Page 22

"Kingsley Martin is not a traitor!" Ted shouted. "You have no proof!"
"I have to agree: that's quite a story you're telling us. Where did you get this information? How do you know?" Deming asked.
"I have my sources."
"He's not here," Ted said. Deming looked at him with disgust. Hope that marriage lasts, Mimi thought. "I mean, he's not here anymore," Ted added.
"But he was," Mimi said.
Ted nodded. He turned to Deming. "We have to tell her - I don't believe that Kingsley has betrayed us, but we have to tell her what we know."
Mimi smiled like a cat. "Please do."
"He first came here for a visit after you freed him from Hell. He seemed really upset - wouldn't talk about it much. Just kept saying that he was worried about you, that something was wrong. Then he went back to London and went on a bender, from what we heard. It was only recently that he came back here, and that was to tell us he was getting an army together, to prepare to defeat Lucifer."
So there was a plan, then. "And you believed him?"
"There didn't seem to be any reason not to," Ted said.
"Where is he now?"
"Enough, Ted," Deming said sharply.
"She said she's worried about him," Ted said. "We don't know where he is right now."
"Really? And you don't know anything about the Venator conclave in London in a few days?" asked Mimi.
"You know about that?" Ted blurted out, and then quickly regretted it.
"Seriously, that's enough, Ted," Deming said. "Mimi, I appreciate that you're trying to help, but the best way to do it is to let us do what we do best. If you want to help, leave Kingsley alone."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Mimi said. "I'm really sorry."
Before Deming or Ted had a chance to react, Mimi pulled the needle out of her blouse, restored it to its full size, and trained it at Deming's throat. "Take me to that conclave," she said. "Or your blood will be on my sword."
She turned to the Venator's husband. "And you're right, Ted: Kingsley Martin is no traitor. I am."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bliss
don did not return. Bliss had taken Malcolm and Rafe with her to the catacombs as well as the ancient sites of the city, to see if they could find the portal, but returned to the hostel at the end of the day as frustrated as ever. She hoped that leaving Lawson and Ahramin to themselves would allow them to sort out whatever was between them, but she was still struggling to understand it herself. Lawson and Ahri? Now it was her turn to feel jealous, but mostly what she felt was angry. They had bigger problems than the consequences of a random hookup right now.
Bliss knew they were close to solving the mystery of the passages and that Arthur had pointed them in the right direction by sending them to Rome, but this thing that had happened between Lawson and Ahramin was distracting them from their real task. She found Ahramin in the lounge, flirting with some backpackers who were trying to decide whether to stay.
"Where's Lawson?" Bliss asked.
"Can't you see I'm busy?" Ahramin rolled her eyes and pointed to the hostel's back door.
The door led out into a small garden, with a patio and a couple of wire chairs surrounding a table. The surface of the table was littered with old newspapers and overflowing ashtrays. The days when Bliss would step outside of a New York club to smoke a cigarette with Dylan seemed so very far away, and now the smell of the ash made her feel a little nauseous.
Lawson was sitting in one of the chairs. His head was buried in his arms, crossed on the table, but he looked up when he heard her coming. "How did the rest of the day go?" he asked quietly.
"Not well. We're not looking in the right place. I can see it so clearly in my head, and I feel like I know it in my bones - but when I look around - I don't see it. Maybe it's not here?"
"It has to be," Lawson said. "We can't give up."
"What about you? Did you and Ahri talk?"
He shook his head. "She doesn't want to talk to me. I'm not sure I have much to say to her either. I just want to forget any of it ever happened, and I have no idea what she wants. Until the last couple of days, I thought we'd both just put it behind us."
"Clearly not," Bliss said. "And Edon?"
"He hasn't come back. But his stuff's still here. He'll show up eventually. When he does, I need you to tell him how sorry I am."
"Tell him yourself." Bliss felt the hairs on her arms stand up. She had a feeling she knew what was coming.
Lawson shook his head. "I need you to take charge of the pack. I've become too much of a distraction, and I need to leave."
Bliss bit her lip. She had come to the same conclusion. She had hoped for a different outcome - for Ahramin to excuse herself - but she knew as well as Lawson that that wasn't about to happen.
"Are you sure? She should go, not you."
"If I stay, Edon won't come back, and he'll still be angry. And I know you won't admit it, but you're angry too. And Malcolm and Rafe won't know what to think. We'll be fractured and ineffective, and the wolves will be lost. We'll never repair the breach in the timeline. But if I go, Edon and Ahri will reconcile, and you can lead them. You'll heal the rift."
Bliss wanted to tell him that she could forgive him, that she could help him mend fences with Ahramin and Edon, but she wasn't sure she could. She was still too confused about her own feelings. Still, she didn't want him to go. "You're taking the easy way out," she said. "You could stay here and work to earn everyone's forgiveness. You could help us, but instead you're running away."
"I'll still be helping you. I just have to do it in my own way." He stood up, and that's when Bliss saw that he'd already packed up his bags. He'd only been waiting to say good-bye to her.
"There was never any chance of my changing your mind, was there?"
He shook his head, gave her one last, long look, and then he was gone.
Bliss was left to explain Lawson's absence to the rest of the pack, and that he'd left her in charge.
"I have to answer to you now?" Ahri sneered.
"No one's answering to anybody," Bliss said. "We're just going to keep doing what we're doing until we learn something useful. I have no interest in bossing you around. We just need to stop fighting and make some progress here. Edon, Ahri, are you two going to be able to get along?"
Edon, who had returned unexpectedly that morning, looked at Ahri and shrugged. "I have nothing to say to you. I'm here for the wolves," he said. "If my brother is enough of a coward that he won't work with us, then let him be. I will stay."
"Edon," Ahramin said. "Edon - I want to explain."
"There is nothing you can say that I would like to hear," Edon said, and his handsome face sagged with sorrow and disappointment. "Let's just get this done."
"I'm going to turn in early. Boys, you coming with me?"
Rafe and Malcolm followed her eagerly, like cubs. They both wanted Edon and Ahri to make up, and they were confused about Lawson's disappearance. But they trusted her; they'd do whatever she suggested. Lawson had been right about that.
She had a lot more trouble falling asleep that night, even though the dorm room was quiet with just the boys in it. She couldn't stop thinking about Lawson. She alternated between being furious with him and missing him desperately. What if she had another nightmare and he wasn't there to comfort her?
It turned out she was right to worry. No sooner had she fallen asleep than she was plunged back into her dream from the night before. This time, though, she was prepared - the feeling of confusion and dual-vision was familiar, as was her own knowledge that she was dreaming and therefore somehow safe. At least for the moment.
Something was different, though. Her two perspectives were moving through a series of dark tunnels. Candles lit the path, though they only allowed her to see a few feet in front of her.
Where am I? she wondered. It felt almost like she was in a basement - she had the definite sense of being underground - but basements don't have corridors.
She had been here once before. She remembered performances, beautiful music. Then she recognized the columns, the courtyard, and realized this was once the Theatre of Pompey, expanded and re-constructed by Caligula himself.
The theater was the entrance to the underground city, a network of paths that connected all of the empire, from Rome to Lutetia. The hidden city of the vampires, the hidden life of the Coven.
Now all she had to find was the door.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Schuyler
inn's dorm was actually a college house called Blackstone. It was much more lavish than Schuyler was expecting; she'd pictured bunk beds in an anonymous cinder block room, especially after seeing the art building. But Blackstone was a beautiful brick building that looked almost like a cathedral.
They entered into a student lounge, which had a fireplace and a grand piano. "This is college?" Schuyler asked. "Or Downton Abbey?"
Finn laughed. "It is here. This place is great! You should see my room."
She led them to an apartment with two bedrooms, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. "I share the kitchen and the bathroom, but the bedroom is all mine," she said. "We can decorate them however we want."
Schuyler let out a gasp when Finn turned on the lights. It wasn't because the room was a mess, even though it was. No, her surprise was because the walls were covered with paintings of someone who looked so much like her that it had to be Allegra. "Did your - our - dad do these?" she asked.
"Every last one," Finn said. "They're pretty much all I have left of him. Go ahead, take a look if you want. They're pretty great, right? Did you ever see the reviews of his show in Artforum or Art in America? He could have been something if he'd lived."
"I haven't. I'd love to see them one day," Schuyler said as she stood close enough to the paintings to see the fine brushstrokes, the swirl of the paint, to smell the...Wait a minute. That smell...it couldn't be....
"Oliver, come here," she whispered, while Finn was puttering around the little kitchen to rustle up some drinks. "I smell blood."
"Where?" he asked. "You're not telling me your sister is some kind of serial killer, are you?" he said jokingly.
"No, in the paintings!" Schuyler said. "I think Ben might have mixed his own blood in with the paint."
"Gross," Oliver said. "What is that, like a Vito Acconci fur, felt, and seed sort of thing?"
"It's not exactly common, but people have done it. You know what this means, don't you?"
Oliver gave her a curious look, but then Finn came back in the room. "Cool, right?" she said. "I always used to wonder who he was painting, but I guess that mystery's been solved. That's your mother, isn't it? You look just like her except for the dark hair."
"I think so," Schuyler said.
"What was she like?" Finn asked eagerly. "My mom always told me it was some sort of tragic love story."
"Well, I guess you could say it was tragic because he died, and after I was born, my mom was in a coma for almost all of my life," Schuyler said. "Your mom wasn't - angry? I sort of figured - "
"Mom's a true romantic," Finn said. "She was pretty crazy about my dad, but she knew the whole time that he was in love with someone else. That's why she lied and told him she wasn't pregnant anymore, so he could go and be with her and not feel guilty."
"And she told you all of this?" Schuyler was amazed. She'd spent her whole life in the dark, and here was this girl whose mother apparently kept no secrets. What a different life she must have led.
"I guess it was really important to her that I grew up with good feelings about my dad since I didn't get to know him at all. You're so lucky," Finn said suddenly.
"Lucky? How?"
"He loved your mom," Finn said simply. "Oh, he was fond of mine, sure, but it wasn't the same."
Schuyler shook her head. "No, you were the lucky one. Your mother loved him so much that she let him go because she wanted him to be happy. I bet she was always there for you, wasn't she?"
"Every moment." Finn didn't deny it.
"Decca showed me all the photos - the birthday parties..."
"Yeah, they were pretty epic."
"If your mom hadn't lied, our dad would never have left her. He would have done the right thing. He was a good guy."