The Van Alen Legacy

CHAPTER 25



Bliss



Of course, just because Bliss was allowed to have control once in a while did not mean that things were back to normal. She would start taking her life for granted, but then the Visitor would return, and it was out, out, out again till next time. She would keep track: Monday to Wednesday, then out for much of Thursday, then the weekend blending into a blur, then back!, she would still be confused by dates, think it was Thursday when it was really Saturday. As the days passed, it was becoming more difficult to adjust to the times when the Visitor returned, to suddenly find herself thrown out of the light and the world, and back into that cold, empty void of memory and restlessness.



She decided that the next time it happened, she would not allow him to shut her out. There had to be a way to stay. She had to find out what the Visitor was planning, where this was all going. Sure, the Visitor had allowed her to have part of her life back, but who knew if it would continue? Plus, Bliss didn't want to share. She wanted all of herself back. She couldn't live like this, like a crazy person. There were other people to think about. The Visitor was dangerous, evil. She couldn't let what had happened in Rio happen again.



The thought made her insides turn to ice. If only there were more fashion shows to book, or more parties to distract her; but things were winding down in the Hamptons, and there were fewer excuses for her to be out in the world.



She spent the afternoon sunbathing in the backyard. She was so pale, she always burned, and had lathered up with some French sunscreen that was like, SPF 100, you might as well be wearing a blanket. She basked in the sun, enjoying how the heat slowly warmed her body. After a year of being nowhere, it was heaven to be outside again, to sit on a chaise lounge, bobbing gently in the middle of the pool, her hand skimming the warm water.



Then she felt it: a darkening... like a shadow passing over the sun, and then the push, the Visitor coming back. But instead of dutifully letting him take over, Bliss forced herself to remain. Inside her mind, Bliss made herself very, very quiet, curled up like a ball, like a shadow against the wall so that the Visitor would not notice that she was sticking around. She knew, instinctively, that he must not realize she was still there. She tried to become an ocean of stillness, with nary a ripple on the surface. She forced herself to hang on. Somehow, it worked.



The Visitor was in charge, but she was still there. This time, she could see everything he could see; she could even hear him speaking (through her voice). They (she had to think of them as two people now) were getting up, putting on a robe, then striding into the house. They took the steps two at a time and practically charged into Forsyth's study.



The senator was home for the congressional summer recess. He was sitting behind his desk with a cigar, and he jumped at their unannounced entrance.



"Didn't I teach you to knock?" he snarled.



"It is me, Forsyth," the Visitor said in Bliss's voice.



"Oh! My lord, I am sorry. I am so very sorry. I did not know you were returning so soon," he said, throwing himself at Bliss's feet. It was discomfiting to see Forsyth through the Visitor's perception, a lowly worm cowering before her.



"Tell me how I can be of service, my lord," the senator said, still on his knees.



"News, Forsyth. Tell me of the Conclave."



Forsyth practically chuckled. Bliss had never seen her "father" look so smug, which was saying a lot for a politician.



"We have nothing to fear from that group, my lord. Half of them are relying on Red Blood "hearing aids" to listen to reports. It's highly entertaining, really. Did I tell you Ambrose Barlow is now a voting member? Of course you know him as Britannicus."



"Britannicus..." the Visitor said. "He does sound familiar."



"He was once your foreman. He took the children to the baths." The Visitor found this incredibly funny. "Very good. I take it everything is set in motion, then? The Venators aren't giving you any trouble?"



"Not at all. Everything is proceeding as planned. Charles Force is in Paris as we speak. He is easier to manipulate than a puppet," Forsyth said with a sharp bark of a laugh.



A deep sense of satisfaction settled over Bliss. The news had made the Visitor very happy. Like an overstuffed cat who had just devoured a cage of canaries.



"Very good. Very good. And my brother?"



Forsyth removed a bottle of scotch from underneath his desk and poured two shots into crystal glasses.



"Say the word and Leviathan will strike. The girl is within his reach. It will be easy enough for him to infiltrate the party. By the way, you may find this amusing: my sources tell me that Charles was unable to get an invitation to the ball."



"How fortunate that the schism still holds." The Visitor nodded, sounding very pleased. "I could always count on my dear sister to harbor such a long grudge. It works to our favor." The Visitor downed the scotch in one fluid motion. "And my other sister, Sophia?"



"Alas, she refuses to divulge information about the Order. She swears she does not know. You know, after a year with Harbonah, she might just be telling the truth."



"I see."



"The good news is Kingsley and his team are still in the woods. They've been misdirected for months, with no idea they were sent on a useless mission."



"Kingsley," the Visitor snorted. "that traitor. We'll deal with him soon enough."



"What shall we do about Sophia? Do we continue to hold the Watcher?" Forsyth asked.



"No." The Visitor ran a finger over the rim of the empty glass, making a small, high-pitched sound. "If my sister truly does not know the identities of the Seven, then she is nothing to me. I grow bored of her stubbornness. Take her away. Kill her." His words had a rash, impulsive cast to them, but there was something else that had made Bliss feel suddenly frightened. When the Visitor had called Sophia 'sister', an image had come to her mind: Jordan.



Was the Visitor speaking of Jordan? And if so, did that mean Jordan was still alive? Where? How? Bliss could feel herself starting to get agitated. She had to calm down. She wanted to hear more... She had to... She had to find out...



But it was too late. She was tossed out of the light and back into the cold, alone and helpless to do anything about what she had heard. What was going to happen in Paris? Why had they wanted Charles Force to go there? And Sophia?, was that Jordan's real name? What did the Visitor have planned for her? And who was the girl Leviathan was after?



Was there anything she could do to prevent any of it? Or was she going to be doomed to know that the end of the world was coming, and yet be completely helpless to do anything about it but watch from a front-row seat?



CHAPTER 26



Mimi



She'd kicked the door so hard it had clattered to the floor, making a tremendous noise. But afterward, all was silent. There was no reply to her challenge. Mimi crept up against the doorway, feeling along the edge of the wall for a light switch. When she turned it on, she saw that she was standing in a filthy mess; everything in the place was ransacked and disorderly.



"Um, like, ew?" Mimi said, making a face at Kingsley, who in turn was surveying the squalor with a flinty stare. Mimi held her nose and tried not to breathe. "What is that?" she asked, almost choking. It smelled sweet and rancid. Like something left to rot.



Kingsley shook his head. Mimi decided she didn't really want to know. She could hear the Lennox brothers breaking down the other door. They edged around the explosion of clutter.



There was something pathological about the scope of the disaster, from the upturned sofa, where someone had hacked at the cushions, leaving a mess of feathers everywhere, to every drawer in every table and bureau being wrenched open, contents spilling out onto the fl oor. There were empty bottles and newspapers scattered all around, remnants of food, plastic wrappers, dirty paper plates, a half-empty bag of M&M's, unopened cans of Red Bull.



Something about the disarray looked familiar. Mimi realized she had seen it before; the Force's town house had been burglarized a few years ago, and her parents rooms had been ransacked in just this manner: everything turned over, upside down, everything picked through. She remembered how odd it had been to see Trinity's jewelry box in the middle of the bed, broken and empty, among the jumble of clothing and old family photographs that the thieves had unearthed from the closet. This was the same: the methodical way every item in the room had been assessed and discarded. Someone had been looking for something. Kingsley signaled to Mimi to keep moving, and they continued to inch along the hallway. They found two bedrooms, both just as messy and overturned as the rest of the house. Sam and Ted came in from the kitchen.



"Anything?" Kingsley asked, still holding his weapon at the ready. "Nothing, Cap."



"This isn't that old," Kingsley said, picking up a paper bag with the McDonald's logo. "It's still warm. Eyes up," he said, ordering them to stay sharp.



Mimi continued to look around. During their burglary in New York, the thieves had made off with four million dollars worth of her mother's diamonds. But the robbery hadn't been the worst of it. She remembered how violated she had felt, to think that strangers had been in their house. One of them had left a coffee cup on the dining room table, leaving an ugly ring on the wood.



It wasn't so much the loss of the stones, although Mimi had been upset not to inherit the jewels, it was the principle of the thing: to know that someone had been in your space. An uninvited, unwelcome someone who had used your house as their own personal playground. There had been a muddy footprint on her headboard, cookie crumbs on the white rug, a smear of chocolate (Mimi hoped it had been chocolate) on her silk bedspread.



The police had come, taken fingerprints, and filed a re-port, not that anything ever came of it, of course. Charles had said most of the jewel thieves dealt with the black market, where pieces were broken down, the stones disguised and laundered through the system, sold to shady dealers on Fifth Avenue. Luckily, insurance had covered most of the damage, as well as the stones, so there was no real financial loss, just sentimental value and a nagging feeling of injustice.



Mimi's parents had had the whole apartment repainted that night and over the weekend. The housekeepers put every thing to rights. Once the insurance check came in, Trinity had kept Harry Winston and several auction houses on their toes. After a few months, Mimi had completely forgotten about it: life went on.



But seeing the momentous mess the Silver Bloods had made took her back to that awful night. Charles looking ashen, Trinity tearing up a bit, and Jack punching his fist into a couch pillow. Mimi had taken one look at the rape and pillage of their beautiful home and declared, "I'm getting us a suite at the St. Regis."



What could they have possibly been looking for here? Mimi wondered. This was a shack in the middle of the jungle. What on earth could it possibly have that was of any value to anyone? And where was Jordan? If they had taken her here, why were they looking for something? Mimi knelt down and rummaged through the disorder, trying to make sense of things. She pushed away a pile of rotten cardboard and unearthed a strange pattern on the carpet.



Footprints.



Small ones.



Leading toward or coming from the bathroom. Mimi entered the small space. This room had also been turned upside down, the cheap plastic shower curtain pulled off the rings, a mountain of towels in the bathtub, the mirror over the sink smashed to bits'there was blood on the glass. There were signs of struggle, the remnants of a fight....



Mimi pushed the towels around. There was something here....



Hidden underneath the fallen shower curtain...



Mimi pushed the crumpled plastic off with her foot, her heart beating.... Could it be... With trembling hands she picked away the piles of broken glass and removed the pile of dirty towels.



There was a small, dead body in the bathtub, wearing dirty flannel pajamas. No. No. No. No. No. NO! They were too late; she¡㢠felt it. They¡㢠been walking in a fog, too slow... They were too slow.... But still, she didn¡㲠want to believe it. NO!



"Kingsley?" she cried. She didn¡㲠want to be by herself when she turned the body over.