Bloody Valentine

ONE Something Blue

Schuyler Van Alen never thought of herself as the bridal type, so she was bemused to find herself the center of attention at the elegant dress shop she visited that morning. If at first she had felt intimidated and out of place in the hushed store, with marble floors and muted lighting, the friendly saleswomen soon put her at ease. They were more than eager to help once she told them what she was looking for. Everyone loved a wedding, and Florence was one of the most romantic places in the world to have one.

They had only been in the city a few days but Schuyler already knew her way around, using the towering marble basilica of the Duomo and the arches of the Ponte Vecchio as guideposts to figure out where she was in the city. She felt as if she had stepped onto a movie set. Florence was not just beautiful, but cinematic, with sweeping vistas thrumming with grandeur, and since it was November, the twisting streets were cold and relatively empty of art-loving tourists, which lent it a slightly melancholy air.

All week, Jack had been mysterious and tight-lipped, and he had hurried away that morning without telling her where he was going. Schuyler let him keep his secrets; she had her own surprise to plan. Even if theirs would be a simple ceremony, a world away from the grand occasion at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York City that Mimi’s bonding planner had orchestrated, Schuyler still felt the intense and incredibly feminine need to make it special. She could not get bonded without a proper bonding dress. Her bank accounts were still untouchable—the Committee had seen to that—but Jack would not begrudge her the cost of a dress, she knew.

“What is your dream dress?” the doting saleslady asked in imperious Italian, glancing at Schuyler’s outfit with a critical eye, taking in the old Converse sneakers, faded jeans, and wrinkled men’s Oxford button-down. “Romantic? Classic? Bohemian? Sexy?” Without waiting for an answer, the dowager snapped her fingers, and soon an army of clerks marched a succession of wedding gowns into the dressing room, each more beautiful and more intricate than the last.

As a child, Schuyler had never spun sugarplum dreams about her wedding, had never staged ornate romantic fantasies that included the exchange of vows with a giggly girlfriend pretending to be the teenage heartthrob of the day. Weddings required elaborate preparation and grandiose plans. It was a day that promised to transform an ordinary girl into a princess, and Schuyler had never had particularly royal ambitions.

She tried on the first dress, with a lushly embroidered bodice and a ten-foot train. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she remembered all those Upper East Side bondings her grandmother had dragged her to. They were always the same: cookie-cutter brides in their exquisite lace gowns or oceans of tulle, the grooms interchangeable, dashing and confident in black tie. The ceremony itself, she realized now, was not dissimilar from a common Red Blood union with their long-winded speeches, the mandatory reading from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians (Love is patient, love is kind, weddings are boring), the exchange of vows and rings. Afterward, if the family still kept up with the ways of the Old Coven, the receptions were tasteful and restrained, the elegant crowd jitterbugging to the Lester Lanin Orchestra; if they were distinctly New Coven types, the parties would be bombastic and flashy, with nightclub singers and a camera crew documenting the whole bedazzled, glittering mess.

“No, this one is too busy for you, signorina,” the saleslady clucked, thrusting a different dress in her direction. This one was simple and backless, but when Schuyler put it on, she felt as if she were trying to be someone else. And on her bonding day she wanted most of all, to look like herself, only a little better.

Like many girls, she had taken it for granted that she would get married—one day—in the future—to someone. Didn’t everyone get married? But it had never crystallized into a real desire, or intent, or focus. She was much too young, in the first place. She had just turned seventeen. But this was no ordinary bonding, and these were strange times. Most of all, she had pledged her heart to an extraordinary boy.

Jack Force was more than she had ever dared wish for, and he was better than a dream or a fantasy because he was real. He was far from perfect, moody and distant at times, and burdened with a sharp temper and an impulsiveness that was part of his dark nature. But she felt more love for him than she thought possible. He wasn’t perfect, but he was perfect for her.

Schuyler allowed the helpful salesladies to talk her into trying on another dress, this one a tight strapless column with a row of minuscule buttons down the back. As nimble fingers latched every hook, she ruminated on how Jack’s proposal had been a surprise, even if she had expected it. She was unprepared that it had happened so soon, but she understood the urgency. They had precious little time together. In a few days he would leave to return to New York, to face his fate, and afterward she might never see him again. She tried not to dwell on her fears, and instead focused on the brief moment of happiness they would be allowed before they would be separated again.

As for the bonding itself, they decided to keep it a secret from the Petruvians at the monastery. They did not know if they trusted the priests, and it was not an event they wanted to share with strangers. Schuyler had only a hazy idea of what Jack had planned. He had mentioned something about an old church in a far corner of the city, and a ceremony by candlelight. That was all she knew, except that there would never be a better time or place for this moment. It was all they had.

“Bellissima!” the sales team cooed as Schuyler apprised herself in the mirror. The dress hugged her in all the right places, and it was stunning.

However, it was not quite right. It was too formal somehow. She shook her head sadly. She thanked and hugged each of the saleswomen and exited the shop empty-handed.

Schuyler visited a host of dress shops on the plaza but found nothing that worked. The dresses were all too beaded, or too voluminous, too corseted, or too revealing. She wanted something simple and clean, a dress that promised fresh beginnings but also hinted at the swoon of surrender. She was about ready to give up the search—surely Jack would not care what she wore, would he?—could she make do with what she already had?—maybe that white cotton sun-dress?—when she found a small fabric shop tucked away in a dim alley by the Ponte Vecchio.

The elderly shopkeeper smiled. “How can I help you, signorina?”

“Could I see that? On the top shelf over there?” Schuyler asked, pointing to a bolt of fabric that had caught her eye the minute she entered the shop.

The old woman nodded and climbed the creaky ladder to bring it down. She laid it on the counter and unwrapped it slowly. “It is a rare Venetian silk, made by artisans from Como, the same way since the thirteenth century,” the shopkeeper told her.

“It’s beautiful,” Schuyler whispered. She touched it reverently. It was a fine silk, soft and supple, light and airy to the touch. She had thought she would wear white—she was not so contrarian as to think she would get bonded in anything else. Yet the fabric she had chosen was the palest shade of blue. To the naked eye it looked ivory, but once you took a closer look you could see the hint of cobalt under the light.

Hattie had taught her a little about dressmaking, and the moment Schuyler saw the cloth she knew it was what she had been looking for all day. She paid for the fabric, her heart beating, her cheeks flushed with excitement at the task at hand. When she returned to their quarters that evening, Jack was still away. She borrowed needle and thread from the supply cabinet and started to work. First she cut a pattern on the muslin: the dress would be off-the shoulder, peasant-style, then drape and flow to the ground. That was all.

As she stitched, she sewed all her wishes and dreams into the dress, threaded there by her blood and her love. She felt a profound sense of joy and anticipation. Not for the first time, Schuyler wondered how she could be so lucky.

When she was done, her fingers were sore and her arms were tired. Night had come, but Jack had not yet returned. She took off her clothes and tried on the dress. The silk felt like water to the touch. She faced her reflection in the mirror with some trepidation, worried about what she might find. What if she had chosen wrong? What if Jack did not like it? What if it didn’t fit correctly?

No. She had nothing to worry about. The muted blue color made her blue eyes shine even more brightly. It fell beautifully off her shoulders, and she decided she would wear her hair down.

It was the first time that Schuyler understood that she was actually going to be a bride. She clapped her hands to her mouth and tried to hide her smile. But it was too much—the happiness bubbled inside her, and she twirled in front of the mirror, laughing.

The sound of footsteps made her stop. Jack. He had returned. Quickly, she took off her bonding dress, hung it carefully in the back of her closet, and put her old clothes back on.

She did not believe old wives’ tales, but she did not want him to see her in her dress until their bonding. Maybe she was a tiny bit superstitious after all.

TWO Dark Circle

They had been together for only a few months, but Schuyler knew the sound of Jack’s step by heart, and something about the footsteps approaching the room sounded strange—as if someone was trying too hard to sound like Jack. She was instantly on alert, and removed her mother’s sword from its hidden sheath, grasping its jeweled handle tightly. She stood by the side of the door and waited. The footsteps stopped abruptly, and there was only silence. She sensed that whoever was outside that door knew that she was aware of the deception, and she slowed down her breathing and calmed her nerves.

When the door opened, its centuries-old hinges turned without creaking, and Schuyler realized her unwanted visitor had set a spell of silence around the room. No one would be able to hear her scream for help. Not that she needed any. She could defend herself. When the tip of a sword appeared at the opening, she held her breath and steadied her hand, ready to attack.

A black-clad Venator entered the room, stepping soundlessly toward her across the rough wood floors. The black-and-silver cross on his clothing marked him as one of the Countess’s men, and Schuyler felt absurdly thankful that he was not from the New York Coven.

She lifted her weapon. The Venators’ relentless pursuit had added misery upon misery to her life. She never felt safe anywhere, and the opportunity to finally face that fear and fight a hidden and unstoppable enemy came as a relief.

The man in black swung wide with his sword, and she managed to block his blow even as his reach exceeded hers by more than a foot. A simple swordfight would not end in her favor, and Schuyler circled the room for a moment, tracing a path just outside of his weapon’s reach. If she fought this battle on his terms, she would be his captive in mere moments.

The Venator attacked again; but instead of meeting his parry, Schuyler jumped up and landed on a wood truss that crossed the room’s high cathedral ceiling. Safe for a moment, she looked down at her foe. He crouched in preparation to leap; but before he could fly, Schuyler slashed fiercely at the wooden trusses holding her. The heavy timber split like soft twigs, sending the massive beams collapsing down on the Venator. She leapt from beam to beam, breaking the trusses, and the wooden shards rained down to the floor, splinters shattering in all directions.

The destruction would have raised a ruckus large enough to wake the entire city had it not been for the silentio. The roof heaved, but held. Meanwhile, the Venator had managed to climb on top of the woodpile and was closing in fast. Schuyler turned back quickly and cut the nearest post to its base, sending it flying toward her attacker.

The Venator looked up just as the first shards bit into his shoulder. With inhuman speed, he stopped it from crushing him by driving his blade into the heavy wood. Now was her chance. Schuyler leapt toward the Vena-tor, and the force of her left foot crashed on his clasped hands, pushing them against the hilt of his sword in the opposite direction until the weapon snapped in half. Schuyler drew her own sword and pressed it to his neck.

“Surrender!” she demanded, her voice echoing through the room. She had broken the spell when she had broken his blade.

The Venator only regarded her with contempt. “You can slay me, but doing so will doom your friend.” He lifted his hand and turned his palm to reveal a Venator stone, hanging on a chain—and inside the stone was an image.

The stone showed Oliver Hazard-Perry, blindfolded and bound.

Schuyler gasped. “This is a trick. Oliver is back in New York….” she said, keeping her sword at his neck.

“He arrived in Italy a half an hour ago. We caught him in the airport.”

“But why would he be in Italy unless…” And then Schuyler realized: Jack’s mysterious errands. The other night when he had asked her what she wanted most for their bonding, she had told him that she only wished her friends could be there on the most important day of her life. She had told him she knew it was impossible and that it was silly of her to wish for something she could not have. Oliver was working for the Repository back in New York, and who knew where Bliss had gone. But Jack had made it happen. Her love had invited her friends to their bonding.

Her heart melted a little, but her happiness at discovering Jack’s secrets had to wait. Oliver was a hostage. Her dear sweet friend—she felt a lump in her throat when she thought of the extent of his generosity. He had come to her bonding to celebrate. He had arrived as a guest only to become a victim.

Schuyler kept her sword at the Venator’s throat. “What do you want for his life?”

The Truth Seeker smiled. “I knew you would come around. This could have been accomplished without all this ruckus.” He removed a velvet pouch from his pocket and shook out a white metal ring. “Give this to Abbadon,” he directed, and whispered a few words into her ear. “Make sure he wears it always.”

“What will it do?” Schuyler asked, staring at the ring.

“The spell will keep him from being able to express his true nature. When we meet again, he will not be able to overpower us, and we will have both of you in our custody. Your love for Abbadon is molded into the ring. As long as your love for him holds, the ring will keep his power in check.”

She balked. The ring had the power to turn the deepest, most important part of her soul into a restraint, a handcuff. They meant to trap Jack with her true love for him. “No. I cannot. I will not.”

“You will do as told, or I will make certain that your friend not only perishes, but that his death is long and painful. If you tell Abbadon the truth, if you try to find help, your friend will die immediately. Take the seeing stone and wear it around your neck. It will enable us to see what you see and hear what you say, even in the glom. Give Abbadon the ring. Or sacrifice your friend. We will be watching.”

Then, with a few words, the Venator restored the room to its former, uncluttered state.

THREE Reunion

The man in black disappeared out the window just as the door opened again. This time it was Jack who entered. Schuyler hurriedly put away the ring in the velvet pouch, but as the Venator had instructed, wore the seeing stone around her neck.

Jack had a worried look on his handsome face, and sat on the bed with a heavy sigh as he removed his boots.

“What’s wrong?” Schuyler asked, moving to kneel behind him so that she could gently rub his shoulders. His muscles felt tight and strained, and she worked her fingers on the knots.

“The Countess’s Venators will be here soon. I fear the Petruvians have betrayed us,” he told her.

“Ghedi?” she asked, alarmed.

“No—he is a friend. He was the one who warned me. But the bonding cannot wait until Saturday. We must leave as soon as we can. They will be upon us if we do not move.”

If only she could tell him the Venators had already found them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to her and reading the distress on her face. “I know it’s not the kind of news a bride wants to hear before her bonding.”

“No, no…it’s not that….” She wanted to tell him everything, but she did not have a choice. She would have to do what the Venator had ordered her to do. Oliver would die if she did not. She removed the velvet pouch from her pocket and, as if in a dream, she offered it to Jack.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Her hands shook. “I wanted to wait and give you this at the bonding, but since we have so little time…Will you wear this for me now?”

In answer, Jack held out his hand with a broad smile, and she slipped the ring on his finger. She whispered the words the Venator had ordered her to say. “This ring is a symbol of my faithfulness, it binds you to me, and my love shall hold you always.”

There. She’d done it.

She held his hand for a long moment, and with her finger traced two circles under his palm. The gesture was part of the code they had developed when they had been under the Countess’s “protection.” The two circles meant that they were being watched. They had developed the secret signs in order to communicate with each other and plan their escape while under the Venators’ guard.

Jack looked at the ring on his finger but his face betrayed nothing. Did he understand what she had just told him? Did he remember their code? He had to.

Oliver’s life depended on it.

A knock on the door interrupted them. “Jack? Schuyler? You have a visitor,” Ghedi said. They exchanged a wary glance. Schuyler steeled herself—had the Venators come back so soon? But when the door opened, the face that appeared was so beloved and familiar that she immediately rushed to greet the new arrival. “Bliss!”

“Sky!” Bliss Llewellyn burst into the room, her copper tresses bouncing. She moved with a new vibrancy, and Schuyler was glad to see her friend looking so well—there was color in her cheeks and her green eyes sparkled with life. There was something different about her—her arms did not bear the telltale sign of the sangre azul. She did not know what happened to Bliss, only that her friend had survived the darkness that had tried to claim her as its own. Bliss had come out on the other side, looking better than ever; and for that Schuyler was thankful.

She hugged her friend tightly. “You’re here.”

“Of course. Once Jack said you guys were getting bonded, how could I not be here for you?” Bliss smiled. “I know this was supposed to be a surprise, Jack, but I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait. I have awful news.”

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Schuyler asked, but she had an inkling that she already knew.

Bliss crossed her arms. “I saw Oliver at customs, and we were supposed to meet up at baggage claim to catch a cab to the hotel together. I waited for him and he never showed. I looked around and I felt like I was being watched. Venators, by the looks of them. They were everywhere. I managed to slip away, but I think they got Oliver.” Bliss explained that she and Jane Murray had been in Chicago when Jack had called. Since she was supposed to be gone for only a few days, she had left the Watcher to stay on the trail of the Hellhound they had been tracking. “Do you know why they would take him?”

“It’s the European Coven. They’re after us,” Schuyler explained. “The Countess wants us dead. She’s still loyal to her brother—Lucifer.”

Bliss nodded to indicate she understood. They were never too far from the threat of the Morningstar—she knew better than most.

“Schuyler, can you find Oliver in the glom? We need to see where he’s being held, and you carry his blood. You should be able to find him faster than I,” Jack said.

Schuyler closed her eyes. She knew Jack was right, but she had a feeling they were walking into a trap. The Venators wanted them to find Oliver. They were being jerked around like puppets, but she had no other options. She couldn’t tell Jack what had happened earlier, about the danger that came from the ring he wore on his finger. She could only trust that he remembered the meaning behind her signal, and that somehow, they would be able to outsmart the Venators. They had done it before.

She reached out into the spirit world, searching for her friend and former familiar. Ollie…where are you? Can you hear me? No harm could come to him, not to Oliver, not to Bliss, not to her dear friends who had come to Italy for the purpose of celebrating her bonding. Whatever happened, Schuyler promised she would keep them safe.

Oliver?

I’m here.

Are you all right?

For the moment. Where are you?

Coming to get you.

Schuyler opened her eyes. “They’re holding him in the Villa Malavolta, the old Villa Feri. In the tower room.”

“I will go,” Jack said, putting on his jacket.

Schuyler shook her head. “Not alone. We’ll come, too.”

“You’ll need us,” Bliss agreed. “Even if I’m just human now.” She waved off their confusion. “I’ll explain later. It’s a long story.”

Jack turned to Schuyler and shook his head. “I cannot risk it.” I cannot risk you.

“Jack,” Schuyler said softly. She took his hand, and glanced again at the traitorous ring he wore on his finger. “I am already in danger, my love, and you cannot protect me always. I can protect myself.”

And I need to be there to protect you, she thought, but could not say or send, lest the Venators hear.

FOUR Lord of the Underworld

Jack knew he could not argue Schuyler out of joining the rescue party. He was glad she had Bliss with her—it would help to have a friend fighting by her side. Not that anything was going to happen, of course; he was going to make sure of it.

He pointed to the ceiling. “They’re right above us.”

The three of them had raced through the city’s ancient underground tunnels toward the intersection of Via del Podestà and Via Bernardo Martellini. The Florentine maze was identical to the one in Lutetia, and Jack had maneuvered through the twists and turns with ease. The building had been owned since the early fifteenth century by the same Blue Blood family that had close ties to the Medicis, but had recently been sold to an unknown bidder. Unlike most buildings in Florence, the villa had a basement so that its first floor would be symmetrical to the road. The tunnels led directly to its basement, and they had arrived in mere moments.

Now they were underneath the room where Oliver was being held. While there was no way to enter the room in the physical world without breaking through to the floor above, there were no such barriers in the glom. Once Jack was in the twilight world, he would be in the same space as the Venators. He could attack without even entering the room.

“It sounds like there are hundreds of them up there,” Schuyler said.

Jack nodded. It was the perfect plan. As Abbadon, he would subdue the Venators in the glom, while Schuyler and Bliss rescued Oliver in the physical world.

“Jack…” Schuyler said. She bit her lip. “Be careful.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

Jack Force moved into the glom. Schuyler was right: he had sensed the presence of more than a hundred Venators guarding the former Conduit in the physical world. Yet only three of the Truth Seekers were posted in the glom.

Strange that his enemies had chosen to keep their forces gathered in the tangible universe. Surely they knew Abbadon would attack in the twilight world first. Which meant the Venators did not fear his strength in the glom. But why?

Jack hunched downward, clenching his fists.

The first Venator dove headlong toward Jack, wielding a black sword. Jack met the man’s thrust by grabbing the Venator’s wrist and turning the blade toward the Venator’s own body. He used the momentum of the Venator’s own charge against him and drove the blade right into his opponent’s knee, splitting the flesh and tearing the joint wide. The Venator rolled sideways in agony as he drifted out of the glom. The remaining two formed a tight circle around Jack.

They attacked in unison this time, one advancing from the front while the other slid toward him from the rear. Jack preempted their attack, leaping backward to smash into the attacker’s chest. The move was unexpected, and he hit the man hard before the Venator had drawn his blade. His adversary reeled to the ground, stunned.

Jack’s unexpected leap kept him clear of the third Venator’s advance for a moment, and he took the opportunity to remove the sword from the Venator’s fallen comrade before the man slipped out of the glom. Jack swung the blade in a tight arc, feeling the weight of the sword, sensing its internal balance and strength.

He tossed the weapon to his other hand and traced a line inches from the Venator’s chest. “Call your friends. They were arrogant to have sent only three men when a hundred wait in reserve. Call them all if you think you have a chance of taking me tonight.”

Jack held the man’s gaze and did not blink. He waited until the Venator disappeared from the glom before relaxing his hand.

Would they take the bait? Their plan would only work if Jack could draw all of them into the glom and away from the room where they held Oliver.

Jack waited in the void of the glom, tense and alone. He balanced his sword in readiness. Where were they?

Finally, the first Venator blinked into the spirit world.

Jack raised his sword and then raised it higher as more and more of them appeared. He had miscalculated. There were more than a hundred of them. Their numbers were astounding. Almost all of the Vena-tors in service to the European Coven had to be here. The Countess wanted her revenge very dearly, it was clear.

He was surrounded. Jack did the only thing he could—he lowered his weapon. It was useless against a group of this size. The Venator army closed in tightly around him. Their faces were calm. They had no fear. Their numbers were vast, their strength overwhelming.

“Surrender, Abbadon! Your defeat is guaranteed.” The words came from a vampire Jack did not recognize. The Venator that led this army had been nothing more than a foot soldier in the celestial army Jack had commanded long ago.

This was going to be too easy, really. He began the transformation into his true form, calling up the immortal spirit that was housed in his blood for time immemorial. Abbadon, the Unlikely. Angel of the Apocalypse. Destroyer of Worlds.

But nothing happened. No dark wings sprouted from his back, no horns grew on his forehead, he was without the strength of a million demons coursing through his veins. He remained Jack Force. Just another eighteen-year-old boy.

Ah.

So that was their game.

He had guessed as much, the moment Schuyler had drawn those two circles on his palm. Had seen her hands shake as she had put the ring on his finger. They had placed a cursed bonding spell on them, to limit his powers. To stop him from turning into Abbadon. Held back by the love she felt for him. He had noticed that telltale stone around her neck, disguised as a pendant. They were watching, they were waiting. This is what they wanted him to do. They wanted him weak and vulnerable, bereft of his immortal power.

“Something wrong, Abbadon?” the Venator sneered. “Where is your strength now?”

Jack sighed. “Do you truly believe that brute force is my only weapon? That after centuries of rule in Heaven, I wield no power but my own sword?”

The Venator smirked. “What other power could you possibly still have? After today, they will call you Abbadon the Weak.”

In reply, Jack spoke a small incantation, a prayer that only he could fashion. The glom darkened considerably, and from the fatal blackness arose the creatures of the Underworld, the Black Fire elementals at his command, as one of the First Born, an Angel of the Dark, captain of the lost and withering souls of Hell.

Abbadon might be chained, but Jack still carried his spirit, and the primal creatures bowed to their master. He screamed as he drove his dark army into battle. How ironic that stripped of his power to transform, only then did he recall the breadth and depth of the darkness that had molded him. For too long he had not made use of the powers of the Dark, had not tapped into the deep, hidden strength of the Underworld where he had been made and his name forged in fire and death.

The dark creatures overpowered the Venators in strength and number. Jack pitied the Truth Seekers until he remembered Schuyler’s anguished face from earlier that evening. The Countess had brought death and bloodshed to their bonding. That could not be helped now. He only hoped Schuyler had been able to carry out her part of the plan, that she and her friends were safe.

Jack looked down at the band of steel that was wrapped around his finger, dull and ordinary, even as its dark magic glowed with a fiery treachery.

FIVE Rescue Party

Schuyler shivered as Jack disappeared into the glom. He would be vulnerable in the glom, just as the Venators had wanted. What would become of him? She had to trust that he would be fine. That he could take care of himself, and that he had understood what she could not tell him.

Before they had set off, Jack had asked her to believe in him and follow their plan. He would draw all the Venators to the glom and take care of them there while she and Bliss freed Oliver. Jack had been clear about one thing: whatever happened, she had to trust him. Even if something happened that she did not understand. He had asked her to promise, and she had agreed.

“Ready?” she asked Bliss, looking up at the ceiling.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Bliss asked, looking doubtfully at the thick planks.

Schuyler thought back to her earlier encounter with the Venator. She had not known the full strength of her sword until the moment she had nearly hacked apart the entire roof structure without so much as breaking a sweat. “I think I can make a little hole in the floor.” She smiled as she raised her sword to the floorboards above.

The blade carved a rough hole in the ceiling. Schuyler leapt through the gap and gazed down at Bliss. “Join me?” she asked. Bliss frowned and Schuyler realized she had forgotten that her friend now lacked the power she took for granted. “Sorry,” she said as she reached down through the hole and lifted Bliss up into the room.

They found themselves staring at a sea of blank faces. Schuyler met the impassive gaze of the nearest Venator. He looked as if he were in a trance. Her heart raced. Jack’s plan was working. He had drawn the Venators into the glom. Now it was her turn to complete the rescue.

“Let’s split up, make sure they’re all gone,” Schuyler said.

They made their way through the catatonic crowd. When a person was in the glom, their body remained limp and motionless in the physical world. She looked into the eyes of each Venator she passed and saw Bliss doing the same. The army was defenseless. Defenseless only if they had all moved into the glom, she thought. She knew better than to believe that the Truth Seekers would leave themselves unprotected. There had to be someone here who was pretending, playing dead, playing possum. She had to find him before he found her.

“Umgghh.”

The sounded echoed through the silent hall. It had to be Oliver. He was somewhere in the back, obscured by the mass of bodies. Schuyler and Bliss raced toward him from opposite sides of the room. Schuyler shoved right and left, pushing roughly through the somnolent Venators that had taken her friend hostage and threatened his life.

She found Oliver, gagged and tied to an old wooden chair.

Bliss arrived at the same time. She looked over her shoulder and said, “I think they’re all out, Sky.” Gingerly, she poked one of the Venators on his shoulder while staring directly into his dead eyes.

“Keep looking; we are not alone. I’m sure of it,” Schuyler said, as she ripped the gag from Oliver’s mouth.

He let out a quick cough and took a deep inward breath before raising his head. “Thanks,” he said softly. He looked around with tired eyes, confused. “Bliss, is that you?”

“The one and only.” Bliss grinned. “Good to see you,” she said, punching him on the shoulder.

“We need to get out of here,” Schuyler said, as she cut the ropes binding Oliver’s chest. “Can you walk?” she asked.

He lifted himself to his feet and nodded. She grabbed his hand and led the other two toward the hole in the floor.

“That was easy,” Bliss said, as they shimmied through the unconscious army.

“Not quite,” a voice said quietly.

Schuyler turned around. She recognized that voice.

One of the sleeping Venators lunged forward. It was the same one who had attacked her earlier.

“The three of you are going to help me end this,” the Venator said, and with a wave of his hand, everything went dark.

When Schuyler opened her eyes again, there was a wild howling in the background.

They were in the glom.

SIX Abbadon’s Curse

Jack raised his fist, and the whirlwind of dark spirits paused for a moment. The shriek of their mad voices was deafening. Their twisted forms swirled in and out of focus, like some fearsome tornado writhing in all directions. He could feel the Venators’ terror. The Truth Seekers were centuries old, veterans of conflicts both human and supernatural, but the creatures of the Dark were unmistakably horrific. He let the dark mass hover above them for a moment.

The terrifying howl was momentarily quiet as Jack focused on the Venator captain. Jack addressed the man who had mocked him earlier. “Let Oliver go and I will spare your army. You may return to the Countess with your men intact.”

The commander grimaced. “There is no turning back for us, my friend. We were sent to retrieve you at any cost. You may have my army, but I have your friends.”

In that instant, three figures materialized in front of them: Oliver, Bliss, and Schuyler, each guarded by a Venator. The one holding Schuyler held a sword that shone with the Black Fire. Since they were human, Oliver and Bliss looked a little green around the edges. As living spirits, humans could enter the glom, but their physical and psychological makeup made their experience in the twilight world akin to a bumpy ride. Side effects included vertigo and nausea.

The captain of the Venators smiled thinly. “Surrender, Abbadon. Let the Countess help you find your way back to the Morningstar.”

“No—Jack, don’t!” Schuyler cried. “Don’t let them take you!”

So that was what Drusilla wanted. His former allegiance. A chance to redeem himself with his old master. For Lucifer had been his commander as well.

Jack shook his head slowly. The Dark had tremendous power, but its strength was unfocused. The creatures could tear bodies and weapons with colossal ease, but would not be able to save his friends from a quick knife. He could not protect his friends. He could not protect his love. He knew what he had to do. He looked at the ring on his finger.

The Venator spoke again. “The choice is yours. Surrender to us, and we shall set them free. Fight, and they shall die.”

Jack did not hesitate. He opened his fist and unleashed the wild fury of the Dark. He looked straight into his enemy’s eyes as he roared, “THEN LET THEM DIE!”

Bliss screamed as Oliver swung wildly at the man that held him, punching him roughly in the chest. But Schuyler stood motionless for a moment.

She did not know what to believe. She had to trust Jack. She had to believe he was doing this for a reason. So she had to believe that sacrificing them was part of his plan. She had promised to trust him. No matter what happened. Even if something happened that she did not understand.

“Kill her first,” Jack sneered, pointing at Schuyler. She stared at Jack’s angry, contorted face. Schuyler held his gaze for a moment, and she shuddered to see so much hate in his eyes.

It was a trick; it had to be. He was lying. Wasn’t he? She was about to panic but she forced herself to think it through. It had to be a lie, but for some reason Jack wanted her to believe he did not love her. Then she realized. Jack knew. He knew about the ring and the power it had over him, a power that was fueled by the deepest emotion in her soul: her love for him. She had to find a way to stop loving him. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, but she willed herself, she tricked herself into believing the lie. She believed it with all of her heart. Jack did not love her. Jack had never loved her. Jack wanted her dead. Jack…

And just as he wished, her love for him faltered for a moment.

The curse was broken, and the ring that held him fell to the ground smoking. The transformation was instantaneous. Jack vanished, and there was only Abbadon, the Angel of Destruction, rearing his ugly head, his dark wings beating against the wind.

With a ferocious strength, Abbadon grappled with the guard holding the black sword, and the weapon twisted under his mighty grip, shattering in midair. Abbadon lifted the frail and confused Venator by the back of his neck and tossed him toward the dark whirlwind.

Schuyler acted just as quickly, turning to face the Vena-tor whose appearance had begun this terror-filled night. She slid between Oliver and the Venator’s blade, swinging low to parry his quick blow as they twisted weapons in midair. He tossed his dagger to the side and pulled a longer blade from its scabbard. But Oliver, tired of captivity, found new strength as a shot of adrenaline pulsed through his veins. He found the Venator’s vulnerable side and delivered a powerful punch. The Venator turned to him swinging his blade, but Oliver’s diversion left his right flank unprotected.

Schuyler swung at the open spot, her blade slashing deep into his armor. The Venator wrenched sideways, confused by the multiple blows, unnerved by the strength of her sword. He tried to balance himself, but a sudden, unexpected kick from Bliss sent him sprawling to the ground. He collapsed in defeat.

Schuyler doubled over, catching her breath, when Jack laid a tender hand on her shoulder. “It’s done,” he said. “We’re safe. Let’s go.”

“Jack—” She could not find the words. Even if the battle had been won, she felt as if she had failed him. Even if it had been a trick, even if it had been something she’d had to do to restore his power, she wanted him to know that she had never stopped loving him. Not even for that instant. She had been able to trick the spell to break the curse, but her heart would always remain steadfast.

“I know,” he said softly. “As I hope you know…”

“You don’t have to say it,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes to see Jack’s green eyes shining with their usual warmth again. It had been too frightening to believe in his anger and indifference. It spoke to her deepest fear—that Jack’s feelings for her were false, that their love was all a dream. But now as he held her in his arms, she realized her fears were a dream, and it was their love that was true.

“I am sorry for putting you through that. Forgive me,” he said, his face buried in her hair. His hand cupped the back of her head gently, but with the same possessive weight that always gave her a secret thrill.

She shook her head. It had been an ordeal, but one that they had faced together. Their friends were safe and their love was more powerful than any curse. Nothing could hold them back now.

When she blinked her eyes again, all of them were back in the physical world, in the tunnels under the villa.

SEVEN Dress Rehearsal

A toast,” Oliver proposed, standing with his wineglass raised. There were only four of them at the table: the happy couple and their two friends who had traveled so far to be with them today. They had weathered violence and evil, and now they were ready to celebrate.

Schuyler beamed and leaned back against Jack, waiting to see what Oliver would say. After they had escaped from the Villa Malavolta, leaving the Countess’s army of Vena-tors a crumpled and disbanded heap and no longer a threat to anyone’s safety, they had followed Jack back up to the city streets. They had seen their friends safely to their hotel, and after allowing a few hours to freshen up and recover from their latest adventure, they had agreed to meet at a local trattoria for dinner.

Oliver had taken her aside on the walk from the palazzo to the restaurant, linking arms with her. “He won’t mind, will he?” he smiled, motioning to Jack.

Schuyler shook her head. “Of course not, Ollie. It’s so good to see you,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. She marveled at the ease of their affection. When they had parted ways at the airport just a few months ago, she had wondered if she would ever see him again, and it made her heart swell to see him looking so happy and healthy. “You look different. You look better. What did the Venators do to you?” she joked.

“Nothing this old boy can’t handle,” he assured her. “But you’re right. I am different.”

He told her about Freya, the witch who had cured his heart and his blood. “I am no longer marked,” he said.

“I felt it.” She nodded. She scanned his open, friendly face. “I am so glad.” They were back to their former allegiance, two friends, their emotions neatly organized back to the way it used to be. Oliver was right. It had to be magic.

“So is it serious?” she teased.

Oliver shook his head. “No. I’ll probably never see her again, but it’s okay. Don’t you worry about me,” he said, before planting a hearty kiss on her forehead.

“Hey!” Jack called. “Only the groom gets to kiss the bride!”

Schuyler and Oliver giggled, and they followed Jack and Bliss into the small café. When the manager found out it was a pre-wedding dinner, they were treated to a feast: steaming plates of tender beef carpaccio and grilled zucchini, white truffle carbonara, ravioli stuffed with pears and pecorino cheese, a buttery and tender Florentine steak. For dessert, there were plates of Sacher torte and tarte tatin and the best tiramisu Schuyler had ever tasted.

Now Oliver was standing in the middle of the restaurant, clearing his throat. “A toast,” he said. “A toast to an amazing couple. I wanted to say something simple and elegant for this momentous occasion, so I’ll leave it to the poets instead. This is a poem that was composed for a wedding.” He began to read from a poem by Frank O’Hara. It was a winding tale of love and friendship, and the group listened keenly. “‘This poem goes on too long because our friendship has been long, long for this life and these times.’” Oliver smiled. “‘And I would make it as long as I hope our friendship lasts if I could make poems that long.’”

“Hear, hear,” Jack cheered, and Schuyler clinked his glass.

Oliver took his seat to wild applause, as even the rest of the restaurant’s patrons had stopped to listen to the music of his words.

Bliss stood up next. “Ollie, you’re a hard act to follow,” she chided. She cleared her throat. “I just want to say how honored I am to be here today. We love you, Sky, and because we love Sky, we love you too, Jack. Take care of each other. Be kind to each other. You have all our good wishes and all of our hearts. Don’t forget us and don’t forget to ask for help when you need it.” She paused, and for a moment Schuyler thought Bliss would talk about the many dangers they would soon be facing. Her friends knew that after the bonding, she and Jack would be separated, that this was just a small bubble, an oasis of happiness before a long and dark story of separation and unknown menace.

After tomorrow, the four of them would each set off from Italy on their own perilous journeys. Oliver back to New York, where vampires were being mysteriously abducted; Bliss to search for the elusive Hellhounds; Schuyler to Alexandria to fulfill her grandfather’s legacy; and Jack to return to face his twin and his destiny, to see if he could win the battle with Death herself.

But Bliss did not mention any of the darkness. She did not have to: they were all thinking the same thing. In a clear voice, she called out, “To Schuyler and Jack!”

There was a bang of wineglasses and merrymaking. Bliss gave Schuyler a fierce hug. Schuyler pulled Jack into the embrace, and Bliss made room for Oliver, so that the four of them were linked in an unbroken circle.

EIGHT Wedding Morning

Early the next morning in the privacy of their bed, Schuyler huddled closer to Jack. She could feel the sunlight streaming into the room, filling it with warmth. Today was their bonding day. She felt his hand on the small of her back, his skin on her skin as he slipped it underneath the light fabric. She turned to him so that she was enveloped, crushed in his arms.

Without saying a word, Jack began to kiss her cheek and her neck, and Schuyler felt his body move over hers, felt the heaviness of him settle upon her. After tonight, they would be bonded.

But that morning, they were still just two people.

After all those trysts in the secret apartment, one would think they had already crossed this line. But she was still chaste. Still innocent, although perhaps not as naive as a virgin bride slipping into her wedding bed, nervous and shaking. No. Not that innocent. But she had wanted to wait for this, had wanted to wait until she was ready, and now she did not want to wait any longer.

She opened her eyes and found him staring at her. The question in his eyes was answered by her kiss. Yes, my darling. Yes. Now.

She lifted his shirt above his chest and helped him undress, her fingers lightly skimming the length of his body. He was so beautiful and warm and solid. And he was hers. She felt pliant and soft underneath him. His skin was hot to the touch, and it felt as if they were both burning, burning.

She could not breathe, she could not think, she could only feel—only feel his kiss and his touch and his weight and the two of them together.

Jack sank his fangs into her neck and she surrendered to him, to love, to pleasure, to the feel of him everywhere—in every last part of her. He took her and held her, and when it happened, she felt broken and free and new.

She could not stop crying. She was so happy, although happy was not the word, it was more than that. It was strong and coursing through her as if she were lit like a candle, an extension of his love and lust, a mere collection of nerve endings. She felt open and whole and surrendered.

“What is wrong, my love?” he whispered, his beautiful face a breath from hers.

She pulled him ever closer. She kissed him hungrily. Nothing is wrong. Nothing…nothing at all.

It was wonderful and frightening and awkward and ecstatic, and she was dizzy from the blood and the pain. But the pleasure was more intense, and more than she could have imagined.

Sweet oblivion.

Tonight they would be bonded. Tonight, she would be his. But she was already.

NINE Angel Bride

At sunset, Schuyler walked into a small church on the north side of the city. She had made the journey alone, as tradition called, her new leather sandals stepping lightly on the cobblestones. When she arrived, Bliss was waiting for her at the vestibule entry.

“You look gorgeous as usual,” her friend sighed. “And that dress!” Bliss handed her a bouquet of wildflowers. The same kind that Jack had given her during their climb up Mount Rosa. “Jack wanted me to give this to you.”

Schuyler smiled as she accepted them. She put a flower in her hair. Her heart beat wildly, and she felt so much love—not just for Jack but for her friends, who were with her on this night.

“Where’s our girl?” a voice asked.

“Ollie!” Schuyler cried, turning to give him a tight hug. Even though they had just seen each other the night before, she was so glad that after everything they had gone through, they were all there for one another. This was what she had wanted. A bonding was both a commitment between her and Jack and a celebration for their community. These were her people.

“I think I get to give you away,” Oliver said with a smile. “Which is only appropriate, don’t you think?”

From behind the closed chapel doors, Schuyler heard the sound of Wagner’s Bridal Chorus, commonly known as “Here Comes the Bride.” A traditional choice perhaps, but on her bonding day Schuyler did not want to trifle with convention. She felt deep-seated desire to pay homage to the institution they were joining.

“I think that’s our cue,” she told Oliver, taking his hand. Bliss opened the doors and stepped into the aisle first, as the bridesmaid.

Schuyler felt none of the butterflies or anxiety she had thought she would feel. She looked straight ahead.

Because there he was.

Her Jack, standing so straight and true. Their love had been tested and challenged, but they had come out of it whole. Their love was stronger than ever. This bright, cheerful happiness that filled the room was his creation. He had cast his own spell, had managed to track down Bliss, and had brought Oliver from New York. They were not even the only friends in attendance. The small chapel was filled with smiling, familiar faces. There was the entire lacrosse team: Bryce Cutting and Jamie Kip and Booze Langdon and Froggy Kernochan. There were Hattie and Julius Jackson, beaming and proud. There was Christopher Anderson. There was Ghedi, their friend, even after everything.

Oliver kissed her on the cheek and shook Jack’s hand.

Then Jack kissed her forehead, and the two of them walked toward the altar. This was right, this was wonderful. This was the happiest day of her life.

Somewhere, not too far, Schuyler felt the presence of those who were missing. She felt Dylan smiling. She felt the love of her grandparents, Lawrence and Cordelia. But most of all, she felt the loving presence and guardianship of her mother and father, wherever they were.

There was no priest at the head of the altar. Blue Blood unions were made by the bondholders themselves. They only had to consecrate their union by saying the right words to each other.

Jack turned to Schuyler, reaching for her left hand. He slipped a ring on her finger. It was the same one that the Venator had brought. The cursed ring.

“Drusilla thought she could spoil this day for me. But she was wrong,” Jack said. “I should thank her, truly, for giving back what I had once lost.”

Schuyler stared curiously at the ring on her finger. The white metal was gone. She saw now that it was a dark-colored band, threaded with a crimson line, as if it were cast of iron and blood.

Jack held it up to the light.

In all my years on this Earth, I have amassed a fortune of jewels and treasures. I can offer you diamonds and rubies, sapphires and emeralds. Yet there is no jewel brighter than your eyes.

As he spoke, Schuyler realized he was opening a way to the glom, and when she blinked, the two of them were standing across from each other in the shadow world. The church and their friends had disappeared.

Do not worry; to them this is but the briefest of moments. He stood in front of her then, in his true form, his ebony wings arching from his back and his horns on his head.

Schuyler looked at the band on her finger and saw that it was a ring of Black Fire.

Do you know the history of how the angels were made?

She shook her head.

When the Almighty created the world, he made the First Born. The Angels of the Light: Michael, Gabrielle, and their brethren were fashioned from the gossamer stars of the heavens. The Angels of the Underworld were cast from the Dark Matter that holds the Earth. There is no Light without the Dark. I am made of fire and iron, of coal and brimstone.

When we were cast out of Paradise, we lost part of our soul forever. As part of our punishment, we were cursed never to learn to love again. Instead, we were bound to a destiny that was set from the beginning. Azrael and I never chose each other; the choice was made for us. We never knew anything else.

The ring you hold is part of my soul that your mother helped me recover. It was she who saved us from the Dark and led us back to the Light. As her daughter, you too are an Angel of the Light. The fire does not harm you. I lost this ring during the crisis in Rome. But now it has been returned to me.

This ring has been blessed by Gabrielle herself.

I have never given this ring, my soul, to anyone. Azrael has never had any part of this.

This is the only part of myself that is truly mine, and now it is yours.

When they stepped away from the glom, Schuyler marveled at the dark ring in her hand. It looked so plain and ordinary, and yet behind it was a secret history of war and blood and love and loss and forgiveness and friendship.

“I will never take it off,” she promised. “And I have a ring as well.”

This time, her hands were as steady as a surgeon’s as she slipped the ring on his finger. It was a plain gold ring. Inscribed with her parents’ wedding date. When she left New York, she had managed to bring a few prized possessions with her.

This was my father’s ring, she sent. It has a protection in it that my mother bestowed on him when they bonded. I want you to have it.

They took each other’s hands, and in front of a chapel filled with their friends, they said the words that bound them to each other, words that could not be unmade.

“I give myself to you and accept you as my own,” Jack declared, his voice trembling a little. There were tears in his eyes.

“I give myself to you and accept you as my own,” Schuyler echoed. She felt calm and serene and looked at him with so much love.

It was done.

They were bonded.

When she looked at Jack again, his emerald eyes were dancing. He radiated joy and happiness and pride. She swelled with love. Against everything, they were together. Against everything, she was his and he was hers.

Did she feel different? Somehow she had imagined an invisible bond forming between them, a physical sensation tying them to each other. Yet she felt the same. Only better. Only more complete. More at peace.

The small room burst into cheering and applause.

When they walked out of the church to the cheerful strains of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March,” their friends greeted them with bright sparklers that shone against the darkness and called their names to the skies.

Jack tightened his grip on her hand, and Schuyler squeezed back twice. It was their secret code. It meant I love you.

Tomorrow Jack would leave her. Tomorrow he would return to New York and she would head for Alexandria.

But tonight, they would dance.