Lost in Time (Blue Bloods 6)

“Mmm,” Mimi said. “Enjoy your time here,” he said. Then he was gone, and Mimi was left to eat her slightly sour yogurt alone.

* * *

For his part, Oliver spent most of his days swimming in the saltwater plunge pool on the top floor. After the initial excitement of living in a palace—not that it was all that different from the way he lived on the Upper East Side, really—he had started to feel lethargic and sluggish. As if his muscles had at-rophied from not needing to go anywhere or do anything or use his mind for any reason other than to ask the trolls for his slippers. There were no art galleries, no music halls, no opera, no theater, no libraries, no literary or artistic amusements of any kind in Tartarus. Worse, there was nothing to read. There were only nightclubs and flesh bars, gladiator matches and sporting events. The television showed reruns of the most pandering type of programming: unfunny sitcoms, gross reality shows; and on the Internet there was only pornography. It was fun at first, but then vice is so boring when there’s no vir-tue to balance it out. When there is nothing but sinful indulgence, sinful indulgence becomes a chore.

Oliver thought he would die from boredom. So he did laps in the Olympic-size pool—anything to make his muscles ache.

He wished that Kingsley would just get back together with Mimi already. Well, what was he waiting for? Was he just stringing her along? Sure, Mimi was sort of… well, annoying was the word he was looking for, but she wasn’t all that bad, and obviously Kingsley was attracted to her. A guy could do much worse than Mimi Force.

Not that it had never crossed Oliver’s mind—he was a guy, after all, and Mimi was a beautiful girl—but the thought of the two of them as a couple was so alien and laughable, he couldn’t see their friendship developing into anything more.

And that’s all they were, friends. Oliver liked Mimi, but he did not find her attractive in that way (she would tell him the feeling was mutual, of course). That’s just the way it was.

Still, Kingsley was such a lucky devil. After all, Mimi had dropped everything in her life to be with him. She was here now. Their story was sure to have a happy ending if only Kingsley would stop being, well, Kingsley. Whereas he, Oliver, would never get what he wanted; not in this lifetime or any other. Not for the first time did Oliver wonder if nice guys really did finish last.

Mimi decided the reason Kingsley was acting so uninterested was that perhaps he no longer found her irresistible. When one night after another came and went, and she waited up for him to slip through her door and get under her covers, she began to think that maybe it never was going to happen.

maybe she had taken her duties to the Coven too much to heart and had neglected the full-time job it took to keep her looking like the most Beautiful Girl in New York.

Well, then. That was easily remedied. She wore down the staff with her requests for egg-and-honey conditioner for her hair, orange rinds for her face, milk-and-almond baths to make her ski

n soft and supple. She burned kohl pencils at the tip with candle flame and drew in eyeliner, and wore lipstick made of crushed rose petals. She noted that Kingsley usually stopped at home for a drink before going out to his supper club or wherever he went that he didn’t invite her, and she planned to swan down the grand staircase one evening in a smashing dress. The troll seamstresses promised that the silk was woven from the clouds of Elysium, that the Dark Prince himself had never worn a suit of such fine fabric. The dress was cut almost to the navel, and Mimi wore her hair in waves—ringlets—the way she had in Rome, when Kingsley had first laid eyes on her.

As if on cue, Kingsley was having a snifter of brandy at the bottom of the stairs when Mimi made her stunning entrance. His eyes flashed with appreciation. At last, a reaction, Mimi thought, and a smug smile played at her lips. Now this is more like it.

“Oh, hi,” she said, as if she had not planned this all week, and she’d merely wandered in looking exquisite, like a goddess who had deigned to grace him with her presence.

“Going somewhere tonight?” he asked mildly.

“Yes. I thought I’d check out that new place mamon’s been raving about,” she hinted. “You?”

“Well, enjoy,” he said, yawning. “I’ve had a big day. I’m going to turn in. You have fun, though. Don’t get into too much trouble, Force,” he said, wagging his finger.

Mimi watched him disappear down the hallway to his personal apartments. Now she was all dressed up with nowhere to go. Jackass, she thought. The dagger he’d thrust into her heart twisted a little deeper. What on earth had made her think he was worth the trip?

THIRTY

Bitter Queen

All fairy tales end at some point, and Allegra’s world came crashing down one ordinary late fall day when she was tallying up receipts. The annual crush the past Saturday had been a rousing success, with hundreds of people at the vineyard dancing and stomping grapes. Allegra had laughed and danced with them, and had spent the evening in the close, warm company of friends. The following Tuesday, the vineyard was closed for business. Ben was in town fetching supplies for the week, and Allegra had just opened the ledger when the darkness fell.

They were a blur—too fast for the human eye to see—and yet to Allegra they appeared as if in slow motion. She could see each of their stoic faces clearly, as well as the weapons they carried, torches of Black Fire. This was an ambush, a sneak attack that she herself had once designed in order to subdue a demon. She was their queen and they had come for her as if she were no more than a Hell-born beast.

Allegra bolted for the door, sending a row of bottles crashing into tables. There was nothing in the world she could use to defend herself against the Black Fire. Her only chance for freedom was to make a quick escape.

“Tut tut,” Kingsley martin said, meeting her at the back door. He was holding a sword lackadaisically at his side. To his credit, he did not point it at her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?” he asked.

“What is the meaning of this?” she hissed, as she was caught by the Venator team, her wrists placed in silver handcuffs.

“You know why we’re here, Allegra,” Kingsley replied.

“Just following orders.”

Allegra scanned the impassive faces. Kingsley martin, the reformed Silver Blood; Forsyth Llewellyn. Of course he would be roped into this mess. He looked like he was enjoying it a little too much; Nan Cutler, who had never liked her since Florence. Well, the feeling was mutual. They surrounded her with their swords and did not speak to her, did not listen to her pleas, or show her an ounce of sympathy.

“After you,” Kingsley said, pointing the team down the stairs to the wine cellar.

They put her in a small room where the Syrah and pinot noir were stored, and handcuffed her to a chair. They worked quickly and systematically, creating wards around the area, making sure that no one would be able to get inside the room.