The Van Alen Legacy

But tonight it was the scene of one last grand Bal des Vampires: Parisian Blue Blood society gathering together one final time in a celebration worthy of Scheherazade.

“Cordelia told me Balzac made a pass at her once, during a ball here. She was a deb then, in an earlier cycle, before she became my grandmother,” she told Oliver as they made their way down into the vast basement kitchens, where modern stainless-steel appliances were installed next to medieval hearths. “She said he was pretty drunk. Can you imagine?”

“One of France’s leading lights hitting on an eighteen-year-old girl?” He smirked, pushing open a swinging door. “Totally.”

The party was in two hours, and they found the cooks angrily yelling at each other, the whole kitchen in a flurry of hurried preparation. Steam was billowing from giant industrial-size vats, and the place smelled of sizzling butter— smoky and delicious.

“What are you doing here?” the head chef demanded when the waitstaff arrived. “Allez, allez, upstairs with you!”

The chef had a brief argument with the staff director, but in the end they agreed that the servers could help the grounds crew, and Schuyler and Oliver were separated.

Schuyler was sent outside, where she found the elephant trainers explaining to the actor and actress playing the King and Queen of Siam how to manage the beasts. Looking to be useful, she set about lighting candles, smoothing down tablecloths, and arranging the floral centerpieces just so. All around her, the courtyard was a cacophony of noise, with performers and acrobats jumping off the roofs, musicians tuning up, and dancing slave girls giggling at the half-naked male models.

Finally all the candles were lit. The tables were set. Every thing was ready. One thing was for sure. This was going to be some party.

She found Oliver polishing glassware at his station. “Remember—meet me at the bottom of the staircase after your first round,” Oliver whispered, trying not to attract too much attention from the other servers. “I’ll look out for you.” They had been ordered by their superiors to turn off their cell phones, not that it mattered since neither of them was able to get a signal. No cell phone towers were allowed on the exclusive part of the island.

Schuyler nodded. They had their assignments: she would be part of the team responsible for welcoming guests with trays of champagne the minute they alighted from the boats. Oliver would be upstairs, working the back bar.

“And, Sky? It’ll be all right. She’ll have to see you.” He smiled. “I’ll make sure of it.” His bravado endeared him to her even more. Dear, sweet, kind Oliver, who had left everything he loved in New York to save and protect her. She knew he was just as afraid as she was, but he wasn’t going to show it.

Tonight’s plan was a long shot at best. She didn’t even know if the Countess of Paris, the evening’s hostess and the soon-to-be-former owner of the H?tel Lambert, would remember her. Much less offer them the refuge they so desperately sought. But she had to ask, for her sake and for Oliver’s. And if she ever wanted vengeance on the demon who had killed her grandfather, she had to try.

The European Conclave was her last and only hope.





FIVE

Mimi


Stepping into someone’s subconscious is like discovering a new planet. Everyone’s internal world is different and unique. Some are cluttered, stuffed with dark and kinky secrets pushed to the edge of their minds, like racy underwear and handcuffs shoved in the back of a closet. Some are as pristine and clear as a spring meadow: all hopping bunnies and falling snowflakes. Those are rare. This guy’s psyche looked pretty standard, and Mimi chose a neutral environment in which to interrogate him—his childhood home. A suburban kitchen: white tiles, Formica table—clean, orderly, ordinary.

Kingsley pulled up a stool across from Frat Boy. “Why did you lie to us?” he asked. In the glom the Venator looked fiercely handsome. The glom did that to vampires: made them look even more beautiful than they already were.

“What are you talking about?” the guy asked, a confused look on his face.

“Show him.”

Mimi found the memory and played it on the television set on the kitchen counter.

“You remember this night?” Kingsley asked as they observed Frat Boy step out onto a hotel balcony and watch a tall man carrying a child-size bundle out of the resort gates. “You remember this man?”

Jordan Llewellyn had been missing for over a year. The eleven-year-old girl had been kidnapped from her hotel room at the same time the Conclave was being slaughtered at a party by Silver Bloods.