Lost in Time (6 page)

She decided upon an old standby, a white silk shirt, a pair of men’s Levi’s, a thick leather belt, and battered cowboy boots.

The party was in a hilltop mansion in Pacific Heights. Allegra slipped past the gilded doors and took a champagne flute from a waiter carrying a silver tray. She made her way through the good-looking, moneyed crowd—women in fur and velvet, men in Japanese-tailored jackets. The party was centered in the living room, a comfortable book-lined space with a breath-taking view of the Golden Gate and a real monet above the fireplace. Yet for all the rare antiques and remarkable art on display, it still managed to be warm and welcoming at the same time.

“You look so familiar. I’m Decca Chase. Welcome to our home.” One of San Francisco’s premier society matrons, who also happened to be Ben’s mother, smiled at Allegra. “You’re the girl in the paintings, aren’t you?”

There were more of them? Allegra wondered. She had only seen one at the gallery. “Mrs. Chase,” she said, “it’s so nice to see you again.”

“So we have met before!” Ben’s mother said with delight.

She was tall, like her son, and shared his all-American, rangy good looks, and was impeccably dressed in swaths of white cashmere. Allegra recalled something her prep-school roommate had told her, that Ben’s mother was an heiress to a great San Francisco fortune, and his middle name came from his mother’s side of the family.

“I went to school with Ben. At Endicott,” Allegra explained, feeling a little intimidated by her friendly host.

“Of course you did! He’ll be glad to see an old friend.”

Decca Chase swiveled through the party, holding Allegra’s hand, and finally stopped in front of a tall boy in a shabby blue jacket who was regaling a large and adoring crowd with a fas-cinating story that had them snorting into their cocktails.

“Look who I found,” she said triumphantly.

Allegra suddenly felt very self-conscious and wished that she had attended that museum opening with Charles. What was she doing here? She didn’t belong here. His mom was being so nice it was painful. maybe she could simply disappear from the party and no one would ever remember she was there. But she felt rooted to the spot, and Ben was turning around to greet her.

He looked exactly the same—tall and golden-haired, with the same friendly, happy grin, the same sparkling blue eyes, his entire personality as clear and sunny as a summer afternoon. “Legs!” he said. It hurt Allegra to hear that old nickname a little, and to hear him use it so easily. He gave her a hearty embrace and a quick peck on the cheek, as if they were just old schoolmates and nothing more…. As if she had never marked him, had never taken his blood and made it hers.

She wondered what had possessed her to come tonight.

Why had she come? What had she feared? Had she come to see whether he was ruined somehow—whether she had destroyed him? Was she disappointed to find she had not? No.

She had done right in leaving Endicott when she had, after she’d been warned by the vision. Look, he was better off without her. He was the same old Ben, with his ruddy cheeks and dimpled smile. He was wearing a frayed rep tie as a belt—still the same old preppie. The jeans were nattily paint splattered, of course. But if there was any pretense or calcula-tion, she could not find it in him. He was natural and friendly, so hard to dislike, one of those boys whom everyone loved, which was why Charles had loathed him from the beginning.

“Ben, hi,” Allegra said, returning his kiss on the cheek, her smile masking the riot of emotions she felt under the surface.

“No one calls me that anymore,” he said, taking a sip from his beer glass and regarding her thoughtfully.

“No one calls me ‘Legs’ either, but you,” she said faintly.

Ben grinned. “I’m only teasing. Call me whatever you want. Or don’t call me at all,” he joked. The crowd around him dispersed, as it was obvious the gorgeous new girl—and Allegra should never have doubted; she was still stunning even with the short haircut—had his entire attention.

“Well, you kids get reacquainted. I should go see what your father is up to; make sure he hasn’t eaten all the caviar puffs,” Decca Chase said, looking contentedly at the two of them. Allegra had forgotten his mother was there. She and Ben watched her move easily through the crowd, pinching an elbow here, laughing at a joke over there, the consummate hostess.

A waiter slid by to refill Allegra’s champagne glass, and she was glad for the distraction. She did not know what to say to Ben. She still didn’t know what she was doing here. Only that the opportunity had arisen to see him again, and she had grabbed it, like a drowning man reaching for a life preserver.

“Your mom is cool. You never said she was cool.” She remembered that he’d said his parents didn’t have much time for him growing up. Perhaps they were making up for it now, with this splashy party.

“I forgot to mention it.” Ben grinned. “Oh, right. I did give you the Poor Little Rich Boy act, didn’t I?”

Allegra laughed. He could always make her laugh, and she had missed their easy camaraderie. “Nice house,” she said, raising her eyebrows at the Picasso above the dining table.

Ben rolled his eyes. “My parents,” he said. “The worst thing about having money is that I don’t get to be a starving artist.”

“Is it that bad?” Allegra said, with a slightly mocking tone.

“Oh, it’s the worst,” Ben said cheerfully. “I get to eat well, and my mom uses her connections to get everyone to write about me or buy my work. It’s rough, I’m telling you.”

Allegra smiled. Ben’s background was just part of him. He was not responsible for who his parents were—he was just lucky to be their son.

Ben looked at her closely. “You cut your hair,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“Thought it was time for a change,” she said, trying to feel brave. God, he hated it, she could tell. Why had she ever cut her hair? What was she thinking?

“I like it,” he said with a nod of approval. “By the way, the gallery told me you bought a painting.”

“I did.” She nodded, noticing that there was a group of people hanging around them, waiting for Ben to release her so they could pounce on him.

“Good, I need the money.”

“Liar.” She motioned to his adoring crowd. “I think I’m keeping you from your fans.”

“Ah, screw them.” Ben grinned. “It’s really good to see you, Legs,” he said warmly. “You want to come by the studio tomorrow? See a couple of other things? I promise I won’t try to sell them to you. Well, maybe not
all
.”

He wanted to see her again. Allegra’s heart skipped a beat. “Sure. Why not.” She shrugged nonchalantly, as if she would only stop by if she had nothing better to do.

His face lit up and he looked downright jolly. “Great! I’ll have the gallery give you the address.”

Finally, one of the hovering guests, an older gentleman with a trimmed beard, grew tired of waiting. “Stephen, excuse my interruption, but you must meet one of our best cli-ents—he’s thrilled with your work and is insistent on buying the entire collection.”

“One sec,” Ben told his dealer. “Sorry about this,” he said to Allegra. “Work calls. But stay. Enjoy the party. Some of the old crowd is here—a bunch of Peithologians, at least. You’ll find them at the bar doing shots. Old habits die hard.”

Then he was gone, taken away by his guests who had come to celebrate his success.

Ben was happy, friendly, fine. He was
fine
. Allegra resolved to feel happy for him, and glad that she had done the right thing in nipping their little affair—whatever it was—right in the bud. As she wandered in the direction of the bar to find her old friends, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. She was glad he’d liked her hair.

Mirror Images

Theirabductorsledthemawayfromthesouk,andSchuyler was shoved inside a vehicle that quickly sped away over bumpy roads. She thought she could feel Jack’s presence next to her, but she wasn’t sure. The hood they had thrown over her head was disorienting—not a normal dark cloth, but one that was made to subdue vampire sight; yet another weapon in the Venator arsenal. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but finally she was pulled out of the car and led indoors. Schuyler began to feel frightened, but she wanted to be strong.

Are you all right?
asked Jack’s calm voice inside her head.
If they harmed you I will tear them apart limb by limb.

So Jack was here. Relief flooded over her as she answered him.
I am fine. Where are we? Who has taken us?
Her mind raced—Venators from New York? Or had the Countess’s forces regrouped?

Before Jack could answer, the hood was removed from her face, but it was quickly replaced by a knife underneath her chin, and her assailant was pulling her hair so that her neck was vulnerable. Jack was sitting across from her, similarly subdued, his hands bound. His glass-green eyes glinted in anger, but he kept his fearsome power in check. He could have killed them with a word, but once again, he had been restrained by his weakness—his love for her. With Schuyler in danger, Jack was effectively powerless, and she hated that most about herself, that she could be used to control him.

The girl who held a knife at Schuyler’s throat was a beautiful Chinese Venator, dressed in a uniform denoting a high command, with three silver crosses embroidered on the collar.

“Hold. This is one of ours.” Her companion, a stocky boy with an open face, gestured toward Jack. “General Abbadon.

This is a surprise. Deming, did you not recognize him?”

“Rujiel,” Jack said, using the Venator’s angel name as he carefully and expertly removed the bindings around his hands as if they were made of string. “I did not realize the West Winds had cast their lot with traitors. I am disappointed to find you and your brother answering to Drusilla’s command.”

“We are no traitors,” Sam Lennox replied sharply. “The Countess might have turned the European Coven, but we do not do her bidding. And neither do we work for your sister anymore.”

“Good thing, too, or you’d be on the next plane back to the city,” Ted said with a growl.

“Well then, would you kindly ask your friend to let my wife go?” Jack asked. “If it is true that we are not in opposi-tion, there is no need for this animosity.”

The Chinese girl looked questioningly at Sam, who nodded, and she withdrew her knife.

Schuyler exhaled. “My mother’s sword. Where is it?”

Another girl—with the exact same face as the Venator who’d accosted her, tossed her the blade, and Schuyler caught it deftly and let it shrink down to size, then put it in her pocket. The Chinese Venators and the Lennox twins were an interesting match. mirror images of each other, they moved with complementary grace and dexterity, like a well-oiled machine fueled by centuries-old expertise. They looked battle-hardened and weary.

Jack took charge of the situation—naturally assuming that the mantle of leadership fell on his shoulders—and intro-duced everyone. “Schuyler, these are Sam and Ted Lennox, also known as the brothers Rujiel and Ruhuel, the Angels of the West Wind. Good soldiers. They were part of my legion a long time ago. I believe they were last on Kingsley martin’s team in Rio. And if I’m not mistaken, these charming ladies are Deming and Dehua Chen. I remember you two from the Four Hundred Ball.” He motioned to Schuyler. “This is Schuyler Van Alen. my bondmate.”

“The famous Jack Force,” Deming said, her voice dripping with contempt. While the Lennox twins might have deferred to Jack as their old commander, it was obvious she did not feel a similar respect. She was stronger and fiercer-looking than her twin, Dehua, who had a gentler demeanor. Schuyler had no doubt that Deming would have slashed her throat without hesitation. “I remember you as well,” Deming told Jack. “They said in New York that you had run away with Gabrielle’s Abomination and broken your bond with Azrael. I did not believe it was true.” She looked at him with such distaste that Schuyler fully understood for the first time the enormity of what Jack had given up for her—his lofty, honored place in the vampire community, his pride, and his word. In the Venator’s eyes he was nothing more than a lowly coward, someone who had broken a heavenly promise.

“Careful. I do not care for that word or that accusation. I will not have my wife insulted in such a manner.” Jack spoke softly, but his words carried the weight of a threat.

“It is the truth,” Deming said. “Gabrielle’s mistake was bad enough, but you have made it worse by breaking your oath and taking up with her spawn.”

“You will apologize for your rudeness!” Jack ordered, leaping to his feet.

Deming stuck out her chin, looking as haughty as a Chinese empress. “You forget we no longer answer to your bidding. Azrael kept her honor. Where is yours?”

“Let me show you.” Jack smiled and reached for his sword.

In a flash, the two had crossed blades, and sparks flew from the heavenly steel.

“Do not threaten my sister,” Dehua warned, unleashing her weapon as well, while Sam and Ted Lennox did the same.

“Careful, Abbadon,” Sam said. “We are not your enemies, but we will protect our own.”

This had gone far enough. Schuyler jumped between the warring angels, her hands outstretched so that all were forced to lower their swords.

“Jack, it’s all right. Deming, you don’t know me, but I’m hoping that we can all make peace somehow. There’s something more important at stake here than any of us,”

Schuyler said. “Please. If we fight between ourselves, we lose everything.”

Deming glowered, but Jack backed down. “You are right as usual,” he said to Schuyler, with a soft look on his face. He turned back to his adversary. “I warn you,
Kuan Yin
, that I will insist on my wife receiving your utmost respect. But I apologize for threatening you.”

Weapons were quickly holstered, and the couples reunited—Sam and Deming and Ted and Dehua instinctively going to each other’s sides. They looked at the newcomers warily, unsure what to do with them.

“Well then,” Jack said, as if nothing had happened. “If you four are not here to drag me into the Countess’s service, or bring me back to my sister for the blood trial, why did you ambush us?”