Lost in Time
I tried to say “I miss you tonight.”
And they claim you’ve already died.
—stellastarr*, “Lost in Time”
What on earth can you do…
but catch at whatever comes near you
with both your hands,
until your fingers are broken?
—Tennessee Williams,
Orpheus Descending
Never Say Good-bye
Florence, December
Schuyler did not sleep the entire evening. Instead she lay
awake, looking up at the crossed wooden beams on the ceiling, or out the window to the view of the Duomo, which
shone a rosy gold in the dawn. Her dress was a crumpled pile
of silk on the floor, next to Jack’s black tuxedo jacket. Last
night, after the guests had left, after cheeks were pressed affectionately against hers in loving good-byes, and hands had
blessed and patted her ring in a gesture of good luck, the new
couple had floated over the cobblestone streets back to their
room, buoyed by the happiness they’d found in their friends
and in each other, in turns exhilarated and exhausted by the
events surrounding their bonding.
In the dim light of the morning, she curled her arm
through his, and he turned toward her so that they pressed
against each other, his chin resting on her forehead, their
legs entwined together under the linen duvet. She placed her
hand on his chest to feel the steady ordered beating of his
heart, and wondered when they would be able to lie like this
again.
“I need to go,” Jack said, his voice still rough with sleep.
He pulled her closer, and his breath tickled her ear. “I don’t
want to, but I need to.” There was an unspoken apology in
his words.
“I know,” Schuyler said. She had promised to be strong
for him, and she would keep that promise, she would not fail
him. If only tomorrow would never come; if only she could
hold on to the night just a little longer. “But not yet. See, it’s
still dark outside. It was the nightingale you heard, and not
the lark,” she whispered, feeling just like Juliet had that
morning when she’d entreated Romeo to stay with her,
drowsy and loving, yet fearful for the future and what would
happen next. Schuyler was trying to hold on to something
precious and fragile, as if the night would be able to protect
their love from the oncoming doom and heartbreak the day
would bring.
She could feel Jack smile against her cheek when he recognized the line from Shakespeare. As she traced his lips
with her fingers, feeling their softness, he moved his body
over hers, and she moved with him until they were joined together. He placed her arms above her head, his hands gripping her wrists tightly, and when he kissed her neck, she
shuddered to feel his fangs on her skin. She pulled him ever
closer, clutching his fine baby-soft hair as he drank deeply
from her blood.
After, his blond head rested on her shoulder, and she folded her arms around his back and held him tightly. By now,
daylight was streaming into the room. There was no denying
it anymore: the night was over, and it would soon be time for
them to part. He gently withdrew from her embrace and
kissed the wounds that were still fresh on her neck until they
healed.
She watched him dress, handing him his boots and
sweater. “It’ll be cold. You’ll need a new jacket,” she said,
brushing off dirt from his black raincoat.
“I’ll get one when I’m back in the city,” he agreed. “Hey,”
he said, when he saw her mournful face. “It’ll be all right. I’ve
lived a long time and I intend to keep doing so.” He managed
a quick smile.
She nodded; the lump in her throat made it hard to
breathe, hard to speak; but she did not want him to remember her this way. She adopted a cheerful tone and handed
him his rucksack. “I put your passport in the front pocket.”
Already she loved the role of bondmate, of helpmeet, of wife.
He nodded his thanks and shouldered the bag, fiddling with
the zipper as he tucked in the last of his books, not quite meeting her eyes. She wanted to remember him exactly as he
stood, looking golden and beautiful in the morning light, his
platinum hair a bit tousled, and his bright green eyes flash-ing in determination.
“Jack…” Schuyler’s resolve faltered, but she did not want
to make their last moment more funereal than it had to be.
“I’ll see you soon,” she said lightly.
He squeezed her hand one last time.
Then Jack was gone and she was alone.
Schuyler put away her bonding dress, gently folding it into
her suitcase. She was ready to forge ahead, but as she
gathered her things, she realized a truth that Jack had refused to acknowledge. It was not that he was afraid of meeting his fate; it was that he would simply bow to it.
Jack will not fight Mimi. Jack will let her kill him rather than fight her.
In the clear light of day, Schuyler grasped the reality of
what he was about to do. Meeting his twin meant meeting his
doom.
It was
not
going to be all right. It was never going to be
all right.
He had tried to hide it with his brave words, but
Schuyler knew deep down he was marching to his end. That
last night was the final night they would ever have together.
Jack was going home to die.
For a moment, Schuyler wanted to scream, rend her
clothing, and tear her hair in grief. But after a few shuddering sobs, she controlled herself. She wiped her tears and held
herself together. She would not let it happen. She could not
accept it. She
would not
accept it. Schuyler felt a surge of excitement fill her veins. She couldn’t let him do this to himself.
Oliver had promised he would do his best to distract Mimi,
and she was thankful for his efforts in securing her happiness. But this was something she had to do for herself and for
her love. She had to save Jack. She had to save him from himself. His flight was leaving in a few minutes, and without
thinking, she ran all the way to the airport. She would stop
him somehow. He was still alive, and she planned to keep it
that way.
Jack was standing on the tarmac, waiting to climb the
stairs to the private jet that would take him first to Rome,
then on to New York. Two black-clad Venators were waiting
for him at the plane and looked at Schuyler curiously, but
Jack did not look surprised to see her suddenly appear at his
side.
“Schuyler…” He smiled. He did not ask what she was doing there. He already knew, but this time his smile was sad.
“Don’t go,” she said.
I cannot let you face your fate alone.
We are bonded now. We will face it together. Your destiny is mine as well. We shall live or die together. There is no other way
, she sent, letting him hear the words in his head.
Jack began to shake his head, and Schuyler said fiercely,
“Listen. We will find a way out of the blood trial. Come to
Alexandria with me. If we are unsuccessful and you have to
return to New York, then I will share your fate. If you are
destroyed, then so am I, and my mother’s legacy is meaningless. I
will not
leave you. Do not fear the future; we will face
it together.”
She could see him weighing her words, and she held her
breath.
Her fate—and perhaps the fate of all vampires—was in
his hands. She had made her case, she had fought for him,
and it was his turn now to fight for her.
Jack Force had a dark destiny before him, but Schuyler
Van Alen hoped—she prayed—she
believed
—that together
they could change it.
Paradiso
TheyleftAlexandriajustasthemassesarrivedtoescapethe heat of Cairo. “We always seem to be going in the wrong direction,” Schuyler said, watching the traffic crawl, inch by inch, on the opposing freeway. It was the middle of July, and the sun was high in the sky. The air-conditioning in their rented sedan barely worked, and she had to place her palms right in front of the passenger-side vents just to cool down.
“Maybe it’s the opposite. maybe we’re actually going in the right direction this time.” Jack smiled and put a little more gas on the pedal. In comparison to the hordes descending upon the beach city, the traffic leading into the capital was light, and for Egypt, they were practically cruising, if that was the correct way to describe the chaotic scene on the highway.
The Alexandria desert road was notorious for fearsome bus crashes and fatal accidents, and it was easy to see why: cars sped wildly, bobbing in and out of lanes at whim, while massive trucks looked as if they would pitch and roll every time they swerved to attain the slightest advantage. Once in a while someone would hit a random speed bump—either a huge unmarked crater or debris that had never been cleared—and traffic would screech to a halt without warning, causing a massive pileup. Schuyler was thankful Jack was a good driver; he seemed to know instinctively when to speed up or slow down, and they weaved through the careening vehicles without a scratch or near miss.
At least they weren’t driving at night, when cars didn’t even have their headlights on, since Egyptian drivers believed headlights burned through gas too quickly, and so made do without them. It was fine for vampires, of course, but Schuyler always worried for the poor humans who were barreling through in the dark—driving blind, like bats fluttering in a cave.
For seven months, she and Jack had lived in Alexandria, wandering through the picturesque cafés and airy museums.
The city had been designed to rival Rome and Athens at their height. Cleopatra had made it the seat of her throne, and while there were a few traces of the ancient outpost still visible—a scattering of sphinxes, statues, and obelisks—there was actually very little that remained of the ancient world in the bustling metropolis.
When they’d first arrived, Schuyler had been filled with hope, and heartened by Jack’s faith and presence, she was certain they would soon find what they sought. Florence had been a decoy, and Alexandria was the only other possibility regarding the true location of the Gate of Promise according to her grandfather’s files, which had documented Catherine of Siena’s travels from Rome to the Red Sea. Schuyler’s mother had trusted her with the family legacy: to find and protect the remaining Gates of Hell, which kept the world safe from the demons of the underworld.
They had checked in to the Cecil Hotel, a favorite of Somerset maugham’s and one that had been popular during the British Colonial era. Schuyler had been charmed by the 1930s-style caged elevator and its splendid marble lobby, which oozed old Hollywood grandeur. She could imagine mar-lene Dietrich arriving with a dozen trunks, a footman to carry her feather-trimmed hats alone.