Blue Bloods: Keys to the Repository (19 page)

Bloods safe from harm and discovery, they are able to decipher dreams and access human and vampire memories.

V.F.E. (Vessel for Evil)
: What Bliss cal s herself when the Visitor takes over. A way for her to laugh when she real y wants to cry.

“Vos vadum reverto”
: The words spoken at a funeral for a vampire who has left this cycle: “We await your glorious return.”

Ward
: A secure protection placed on a location by incantation

Warden
: Title given to senior members of the Committee and the Conclave

The Watcher
: The Elder of Elders is an eternal spirit, born with her eyes wide open, in ful consciousness of her memories. She holds vigilance

against Blue Blood enemies to sound the alarm should Lucifer return to Earth. She can be cal ed up in a cycle to take human form, but if threatened,

can switch human shel s. She was the one who first discovered the Croatan betrayal in Rome. Able to see the future, she also foresaw the breaking of

the bond between Gabriel e and Michael and predicted that Gabriel e’s daughter would be the salvation of the Blue Bloods.

White Darkness/White Death
: The result of the
subvertio
spel . Leviathan released it into the intersection in Lutetia, creating a time vacuum that

possibly swal owed or destroyed Charles Force. Kings-ley cal ed it forth to destroy the Gate of Time and one of the Paths of the Dead.

Wisdom Teeth
: A vampire’s fangs (the Red Bloods took the term from the Blue Bloods). They are not, as the Conspiracy has spread, in the front

canines, but actual y on the side. With practice, they can be extended and retracted.

Author’s Note: I am currently in the process of writing the fifth Blue Bloods book,
Misguided Angel
, coming Fall 2010, and thought it would be fun

to share the first two chapters.

MISGUIDED ANGEL

ONE

The Cinque Terre

Schuyler Van Alen walked up the polished brass spiral stairs leading to the upper deck as quickly as she could. Jack Force was standing at the edge

of the bow when she caught his eye. She nodded to him, shielding her eyes from the hot Mediterranean sun.
It’s done.

Good
, he sent, and went back to setting the anchor. He was sunburned and shaggy, his skin a deep nut brown, his hair the color of flax. Her own

dark hair was wild and unkempt from a month of salty sea air. She wore an old shirt of Jack’s that had once been white and pristine and was now

gray and ragged at the hem. They both displayed that laconic, relaxed air affected by those on perpetual vacation: a lazy, weathered aimlessness that

belied their true desperation. A month was long enough. They had to act now. They had to act today.

The muscles on Jack’s arms tensed as he tugged on the rope to see if the anchor had found purchase on the ocean floor. No luck. The anchor

heaved, so he released the line a few more feet. He raised a finger over his right shoulder, signaling to Schuyler to reverse the port engine. He let the

rope go a little farther and tugged at it again, the stout white braids of the anchor line chafing his palm as he pul ed it toward him.

From her summers sailing on Nantucket, Schuyler knew that an ordinary man would have used a motor winch to set the seven-hundred-pound

anchor; but of course Jack was far from ordinary. He pul ed harder, using almost al of his strength, and al eight tons of the Countess’s yacht seemed

to flex for a moment. This time, the anchor held, wedged into the rocky bottom. Jack relaxed and dropped the rope, and Schuyler moved from the

helm to help him twine it around the base of the winch. In the past month they had each found quiet solace these smal tasks. It gave them something

to do while they plotted their escape.

For while Isabel e of Orleans had welcomed them to the safety of her home, once upon a time, in another lifetime, she had been Lucifer’s

beloved, Drusil a, sister-wife to the emperor Caligula. True, the Countess had been more than generous toward them; she had blessed them with

every comfort—the boat in particular was ful y staffed and bountiful y stocked. Yet it was becoming clearer each day that the Countess’s offer of

protection was morphing quickly from asylum to confinement. They were as far from finding the Gate of Promise as they had been when they left New

York.

The Countess had given them everything except what they needed most: freedom. Schuyler did not believe that Isabel e, who had been a great

friend to Lawrence and Cordelia, and one of the most respected vampire dowagers of European society, was a Silver Blood traitor; but after Forsyth

Llewel yn’s treachery in New York, anything seemed possible. In any event they couldn’t afford to wait and find out if the Countess was planning to

keep them prisoners in perpetuity.

Schuyler glanced shyly at Jack. They had been together a month now, but everything was stil so new—his touch, his voice, his companionship,

the easy feel of his arm around her shoulders. She stood beside him against the rail, and he looped his arm around her neck, pul ing her closer so he

could plant a quick kiss on the top of her head. She liked those kisses the most, found a deep contentment in the confident way he held her. They

belonged to each other now.

Maybe this was what Al egra had meant, Schuyler thought, when she told her daughter to come home and stop fighting, stop fleeing from finding

her own happiness. Maybe this was what her mother wanted her to understand.

Jack lowered his arm from her shoulder and she fol owed his gaze to the smal rowboat “the boys” were lowering from the stern onto the choppy

water below. They were a jol y duo, two Italians, Drago and Iggy (short for Ignazio), Venators in service to the Countess and for al intents and

purposes, their jailors. But Schuyler had come to like them almost as friends. The thought of what she and Jack were about to do set her nerves on

edge. They would not get another chance. She marveled at Jack’s calm demeanor; she herself could barely keep stil , and was bouncing up and

down on the bal s of her feet in anticipation.

She fol owed Jack to the edge of the platform. Iggy had tethered the little boat to the yacht, and Drago reached forward to help Schuyler step

down. But Jack slipped ahead and brushed Drago aside so he could offer Schuyler his palm instead, ever the gentleman. She held his hand as she

climbed over the rail and into the boat. Drago shrugged and steadied the boat as Iggy brought the last of the provisions onto the bow.

Schuyler turned to look closely at the rugged Italian coast for the first time. Ever since they had learned of the Venator’s affinity for the Cinque

Terre, they had been advocating for this little day trip. The Cinque Terre was a strip of the Italian Riviera populated by a series of five medieval towns.

Iggy, with his broad face and fat bel y, spoke longingly of his memories of running along the paths at the cliff’s edge before coming home to outdoor

dinners overlooking sunsets above the bay.

She had never been to this part of Italy and did not know too much about it—but she understood how they could use Iggy’s affection for his

hometown to their advantage. He had not been able to resist their suggestion to visit, and al owed them a day ashore, off their floating prison. It was

the perfect spot for what they had planned, as trails ended in ancient stairs that stretched upward for hundreds of feet. The paths would be

abandoned this time of year—tourist season was over as fal brought cold weather to the popular resort towns. The mountain trails would lead them

far from the ship.

“You are going to love this place, Jack,” Iggy said, rowing vigorously. “You too,
Signorina
,” he said. The Italians had a difficult time pronouncing

“Schuyler.”

Jack grunted, pul ing on his oar, and Schuyler tried to affect a festive air. They were supposed to be getting ready to enjoy a picnic. Schuyler

noticed Jack brooding, staring at the sea, preparing himself for the day ahead, and she swatted his arm playful y. This was supposed to be a long-

awaited respite from their time on the ship, a chance to spend a day exploring.

They were supposed to look like a happy couple with not a care in the world, not like two captives about to execute a prison break.

TWO

The Getaway

Schuyler felt her mood lift as they pul ed into the bay at Vernazza. The view could bring a smile to anyone’s face, and even Jack brightened. The rock

ledges were spectacular, and the houses that clung to them looked as ancient as the stones themselves. They docked the boat, and the foursome

hiked up the cliffside toward the trail.

The five towns that formed the Cinque Terre were connected by a series of stony paths—some almost impossible to climb, Iggy explained as

they walked past a succession of tiny stucco homes. The Venator was in a jubilant mood, tel ing them the history of every house they walked past.

“And this one, my auntie Clara sold in 1977 to a nice family from Parma; and this right here was where the most beautiful girl in Italy lived (
kissing

noise
), but . . . Red Blood lady, you know how they are . . .
picky
. . . oh, and this is where . . .” Iggy cal ed out to farmers they came across as they

walked through the backyards and fields, patting animals as they snuck through their pastures. The trail wound back and forth from grassland to

homes to the very edge of the sea cliffs. Schuyler watched tiny rocks tumble over the side of the hil as they made their way forward.

Iggy kept the conversation flowing, while Drago nodded and laughed to himself, as if he had taken the tour one time too many and was merely

humoring his friend as Iggy’s long-winded tales took most of the morning. The climb was hard work, but Schuyler was glad for the chance to stretch

her muscles, and she was certain Jack was too. They had spent too much time on the boat, and while they had been al owed to swim in the ocean, it

wasn’t the same as a good hike in the open air. In a few hours they had worked their way from Vernazza to Corniglia, and then Manarol a. Schuyler

noticed that they passed the day without seeing a single car or truck, not a phone line or power cable.

This is it
, Jack sent.
Over there.

Schuyler knew he meant he had judged their distance to be nearly halfway between the two towns. It was time. Schuyler tapped Iggy on the

shoulder, and gestured toward a craggy outcropping that hung over the cliffside. “Lunch?” she twinkled.

Iggy smiled. “Of course! In al my exuberance, I forgot to let us stop to eat!”

The spot to which Schuyler had led them was in a peculiar location. The trail stretched out toward a promontory, so that there were cliffs on either

side of the narrow path. The two Venators spread one of the Countess’s spotless white tablecloths over a grassy plateau between the rough stones,

and the four of them crammed in the smal space. Schuyler tried not to gaze down as she snuggled up as close to the edge as possible.

Jack sat across from her, gazing over her shoulder at the shoreline below. He kept his eye on the beach as Schuyler helped unpack the basket.

She brought out salamis and prosciutto di Parma, finocchiona, mortadel a, and air-cured beef. The meat came in long rol s, or cut into smal discs

wrapped in wax paper. There was a loaf of rosemary cake, along with a brown paper bag ful of almond tarts and jam crostata. It was a pity it was al

going to go to waste. Drago pul ed out several plastic containers fil ed with Italian cheese: pecorino and fresh burrata wrapped in green asphodel

leaves. Schuyler cut into the burrata and took a bite. It was buttery and milky, rivaling the view in splendor.

She caught Jack’s eye briefly.
Get ready
, he sent. She continued to smile and eat, even as her stomach clenched. She turned briefly to see what

Jack had seen. A smal motorboat had pul ed up to the beach below. Who would have known a former North African pirate from the Somali coast

would prove to be such a reliable contact? Schuyler thought. Even from far above, she could see that he had brought them what they had asked for:

one of their fastest speedboats, jerry-rigged with a grossly oversized engine.

Iggy popped open a bottle of Prosecco, and the four of them toasted the sun-drenched coastline with friendly smiles. He lifted his hand in a wide

gesture as he gazed down at the midday feast. “Shal we begin?”

That was the moment she had been waiting for. Schuyler sprang into action. She leaned back and appeared to lose her balance for a moment,

then bent forward and tossed the ful contents of her wineglass into Drago’s face. The alcohol stung his eyes and he looked baffled; but before he

could react, Iggy slapped him on the back and guffawed heartily, as if Schuyler had made a particularly funny joke.

With Drago momentarily blinded and Iggy’s eyes closed in laughter, Jack moved to strike. He slid a shank out from his shirtsleeve and into his

palm, flipped it around, and drove the knife deep into Drago’s chest, sending the Italian sprawling to the ground, bleeding from the hole in his torso.

Schuyler had helped Jack make the blade from one of the deck boards; he had hol owed out the back of a loose stair tread and whittled it against a

stone she’d found on a dive. The plank was made from ironwood, and it served as a dangerous and deadly little dagger.

Schuyler rushed for the other Venator, but Iggy was up before she could stand. This they had not counted on. The fat man could
move
. In an