The Gates of Paradise (22 page)

hat was more surprising than finding herself suddenly in Hell was who had taken her there. How had she not recognized his voice? How had she not recognized him from the very beginning? He had disguised himself—an illusion, she saw now—and she hadn’t even noticed; hadn’t given a second glance to the black-suited chauffeur holding the sign.

The illusion was gone, and now she could see him clearly. His shining blond hair and glass-green eyes. She could feel his body against hers, and his breath on her cheek. He was alive—her heart leapt at that—Jack was alive! She had tried so hard to suppress her feelings, to stop herself from worrying—but to see him in front of her made her realize how truly she had believed he was dead. But her happiness was hers alone. He did not share it and she did not understand why. She stared at his face: why was he scrowling like that? And why was he so cold? His skin was like ice to the touch—as if he were made of marble. He was like a statue.

This was not the joyful reunion Schuyler had been dreaming about. There was something wrong with Jack. He was not himself. What had happened to her love?

“Jack—what’s going on?” she breathed, turning to him even as he held her like a prisoner.

His gaze was cool and distant. There was no spark in his eyes, no warmth there. He was Jack, but somehow not her Jack. Schuyler began to feel very afraid for the two of
them.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why are we here? What’s going on? Jack—what’s happened to you?”

He did not answer, and Schuyler realized what she had been loath to admit to herself. That the presence she’d felt—those eyes on her—it had been him all along. She had sensed it, and had tried to reach out to him, but there had been no response, and so she’d tried to forget about it, had tried to convince herself that she felt nothing. That she was seeing phantoms; that she was kidding herself.

But of course she knew. She knew he was in London; she knew he had been watching her. She had been waiting for him to come to her, to show himself, and now he had. Had he seen everything that had happened to her? Was he there when she met her grandmother? When she visited her father’s grave?

She looked deep into his eyes, and found him staring back at her blankly. It was as if the Jack she knew had been completely erased. She felt her stomach clench, and tears come to her eyes. Even if she could not put her arms around him, since he held them at her sides, they were so close that she could turn her face and press her cheek against his
cold one.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, even though she suspected she already knew. “You’re working for Lucifer again, aren’t you?”

He did not deny it.

“But why? Why now? What happened to Mimi? Did you kill her?” Schuyler sucked in her breath. Was that what happened? Was that why he was so changed? Because he had killed her?

“Azrael lives.”

“As do you. So, how?” She struggled against his hold and pressed her body against his. She had hoped that his body would remember hers at least—that somehow, in some way, he would acknowledge their deep bond. Whenever they were together, there was always so much heat between them, but still, Jack remained ice-cold and indifferent. Was there any way to bring him back to her? To make him remember? “I don’t care,” she said. “You don’t have to explain anything. I just want you back, Jack. Please, don’t do this. I know this isn’t you.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Schuyler, you never have. You’ve never understood what it means to be one of the Fallen.”

“How can you say that? After all we’ve been through?” She thought of everything they had done together—remembered the first time they had spoken, outside of that nightclub in New York—all those secret nights in the Perry Street apartment—their bonding in Florence—and the last night in Cairo.…He would always be hers, and she his. He was her great love, and seeing him, even like this, brought a joy to her senses, regardless of her fear and confusion.

Jack was alive.

And yet Jack was dead.

Where was the boy she had pledged her life and love to? Where was the boy who’d held her so close she couldn’t breathe sometimes? Where was the boy with the serious smile and the poetry and the books? The boy who had taken her to Vienna on a whim? The boy who knew her even better than he knew himself? Who knew everything about her, every inch of her body, every flutter of her heart. Jack was hers—he owned her, she loved him deeply, and even like this, she loved him still. Where was Jack? What had he done to himself?

“Jack, it’s me,” she said softly. “Let me help you.”

“You don’t know anything,” he said again. “And I saw you with him.”

“What? With who?”

“With
him
,” he spat, and she realized he was talking about Oliver.

Schuyler wanted to laugh, it was so absurd. “You know there’s nothing between me and Oliver. Not anymore. Not since I left New York to be with you. Remember? He’s just my friend.” She loved Oliver, but she had never loved him the way she loved Jack. Jack knew that. He’d known it from the beginning. It had almost broken her best friend—and herself to admit it—but it was true. There had always ever been one boy in her heart. Only Jack Force.

“I know what he wants…and what you want. What you’ve always wanted.”

He’d seen her kiss Oliver, she realized. His grip around her tightened, but there was no warmth in it, only anger, only violence. He could break her in half, she realized; snap her like a twig; kill her without a second thought.

“That wasn’t what it looked like; you of all people should know that,” she said. “I was kissing him good-bye.”

“Like you did me?” he asked with a smirk in his voice, and now his hold on her became so painful, it was all she could do not to cry out.

“How can you say that to me?” she asked. How could he sully the memory of their last night? It was all she had of him. She knew he wasn’t himself, but it still hurt.

“Because there’s nothing you can say that I want to hear,” he said with a cruel smile. “Our bond is broken. It was never forged. There is nothing between us now, and there never has been.”

“You don’t believe that, I know you don’t. Not truly. Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

“Because this is who I am,” Jack said.

Schuyler understood what he was telling her now—that evil was always part of his nature. He was a Dark Angel. He had been fighting for the Light, but he had given up at last. Whatever had happened between him and Mimi, it had changed him, just as Schuyler had feared.

She was going to die. She understood why he had come for her. She was going to die at his hands. This was how it was going to end. Lawrence had warned her; Mimi had warned her. Yet she and Jack had ignored all the signs, all the warnings. They had fought to be together, and this was how it would end. Their love had been futile, damaged, cursed from the beginning.

Jack continued to hold her so close, and Schuyler whispered in his ear. “I know you. I know this isn’t you. And even if it is, I still love you. As much as I always have. You will always be mine. Take me—I am yours. Take whatever you need from me, I will give it gladly. I will always love you, I promised you that when you left, and it’s true now.” She looked at him, and no matter what happened, she knew that it was true. She would always love Jack. Even like this. Even if he no longer loved her.

But Jack did not answer. He was transforming before her, into the fearful vision she’d seen before. The terrifying horned angel with the magnificent wings, clad in golden armor. Abbadon, the Angel of Destruction. The Dark Angel of the Apocalypse.

“What does Lucifer want with me?” she asked softly.

“I think you know.”

“The Gate of Promise.”

“You are the key,” Abbadon said. “You will bring us into Paradise. And Heaven will crumble under our domain.”

remember everything now.

I had decided to walk after the performance. The music
moved me, it was so beautiful and sad. But I was happy. We were
happy then. You and I. We had learned to love this world, and we had
not yet known despair. I had discovered something that could change our
world forever, and I’d meant to tell you but I wanted to be sure. It was
a wonderful secret, and I’d planned to tell you that we would soon be home in Eden.

I went past the courtyard and down the steps, and decided I would take the passages to visit our friends in Lutetia. But as I walked down, I heard something—a noise, something different. And I followed the noise to its source. The tunnels were different, and I realized I was no longer in this world, but in another. I was not even in the passages anymore.

I was on a different path.

I heard his voice, booming in the darkness. The voice of our friend and emperor. Gaius. The one they called Caligula. Addressing his people.

I turned the corner and I saw.

Their eyes glittered crimson and silver; their fangs outstretched. I saw their hunger and greed, and I knew all was lost. That Gaius was Lucifer, hidden among us, and that he had discovered the Paths of the Dead, and he would lead an army of the Fallen and demons to take this world.

So I ran.

I ran away, to tell you, to warn you, to warn us all about the betrayal that was in the Coven, that we had nursed and nurtured
among us.

I ran.

And Lucifer followed me.