Gates of Paradise (Blue Bloods 7)

How had it come to this? she wondered. It was so much easier before, when she and Jack would go through the motions of bonding. Sure, this cycle wasn’t the court of Versailles or Florence during the Renaissance, but up until now they had lived pretty fabulous lives in New York. How had everything gotten so complicated?

It was the birth of Schuyler Van Alen, Mimi realized. Gabrielle’s half-human child had triggered everything—she was the catalyst for change—but was this what Gabrielle had wanted? The Coven in ruins, the vampires in retreat, the Gate of Promise on the brink of destruction, and the key to Heaven in the enemy’s grasp?

What was Mimi going to do? She had to warn them—had to warn Kingsley and Schuyler and Oliver what was about to happen—but how? She supposed there was a Venator safe house somewhere; that was the only reason Kingsley was in London, she was sure of it. But where? Maybe Jack had found it. It was a pity they hadn’t been able to talk before he’d left—hadn’t been able to coordinate their actions, their deceptions.

Jack, where’s the safe house?

You’re here? Why are you aboveground?

Looking for Kingsley. Lucifer gave me a job, too.

What is it?

Can’t get into it right now. Do you know where the safe house is?

Still looking.

Let me know if you find it. I can help distract Danel, give our friends time to get away.

There was a time when Mimi could have gone to just about any fabulous restaurant or club in London and found a vampire to point her in the right direction. She hadn’t noticed it the last time she was in town, but she did now. It was eerie. London had been drained of vampires—pun definitely intended. There was no one left. Not in the usual hot spots, not in the boys’ clubs, not anywhere. She felt a piercing sadness at the reality of the current situation.

She called the old families in New York, spoke to a few remaining brave souls, but no one knew where the Venators were hiding in London. “We’re all just lying low until we hear from someone in charge,” they told her.

She wanted to scream that she was in charge, but it wouldn’t help matters. Finally, she went with the most mundane approach she could imagine: she called Oliver’s parents. The Conduits had scattered too—but Oliver’s family was so predictable. They were like ostriches hiding their heads in the sand while everything else was on display. They were “hiding” in Southampton. Water Mill, to be exact.

“Please, you need to tell me where he is,” she said. “It’s important.”

“We haven’t heard from him in a while,” Mrs. Hazard-Perry said. “He was in London, but then something happened in the Repository—he could be back in the States. We’re worried about him. If you do find him, will you tell him to get in touch?”

“Where was he in London? I’ll make sure he calls you when I find him.”

“We really aren’t supposed to tell anyone,” she said. “We’re under strictest orders.”

“From who?” Mimi said. Who was calling the shots in the Coven?

“Venator Martin, of course.”

Of course. Kingsley was leading them.

“It’s really important; you know I wouldn’t be calling otherwise.”

Mrs. Hazard-Perry sighed.

Mimi could tell she was almost there. “He’s in great danger. I can only help if I know where the safe house is. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure he’s okay.”

Apparently that was enough; Mrs. Hazard-Perry gave her the address.

Mimi barely remembered to say thank you before getting off the phone and into a minicab. She gave the driver the address and tried to mentally prepare for what she was supposed to do. There had to be a way out of this, even if she had a virtual ball and chain to the Dark Prince around her neck. She had to find a way to clue Kingsley in, stage some sort of fight where he could fake his death and she could help him escape.

Traffic was heavy as the minicab approached the address Oliver’s mother had given her. That was weird—it wasn’t a particularly populated neighborhood, and it was far away from any of the busy parts of London. Then she saw the police cars, and the tape that cordoned off the street. Blue and white for London, unlike the blue and yellow of New York.

“What’s going on?” she asked the cab driver.

“Dunno, miss. I’ll get as close as I can, but you might have to walk the rest of the way.”

He drove down the street, right up to the tape. “I’m afraid this is the address you were looking for,” he said. He parked in front of the safe house. Or what used to be the safe house.

It had burned to the ground.