Schuyler bit her lip.
"Nan Cutler!" Lawrence sounded crushingly wounded. "During the crisis in Rome she had been integral to the Silver Blood defeat. I was blinded by her years of loyalty to the Conclave. This is my fault, I was overconfident and trusting when I should have been guarded and wary." Abruptly Lawrence turned the car around, causing the car in the opposite direction to swerve wildly to get out of his way. "Kingsley was right—I put too much faith on old allegiances," he said as he floored the pedal and the car shot forward.
"Where are we going?"
"To Corcovado."
"Now? Why?"
Lawrence gripped the wheel tightly. "The attack on the Conclave can only mean one thing: the Silver Bloods are planning to free Leviathan."
They parked at the base of the entrance to the Statue of the Redeemer and ran out of the car. The parking lot was empty and quiet, and they could see the statue lit up by floodlights from below. "Disguise yourself," Lawrence ordered Schuyler. "And you, stay here," he told Oliver.
Oliver began to protest, but one look from Lawrence silenced him.
"I can't," Schuyler confessed to her grandfather. "I can't perform the mutatio."
Lawrence was already in the form of the young man with the hawkish nose and imperial attitude she had first seen at the Venice Biennale. "Of course you can," he said, scaling the fence easily.
"Grandfather, I can't. I can't turn into a fog or an animal," she said, following his lead.
"Who said you could?" he asked as they flew up the series of zigzagged stairwells to the statue. Their footsteps made hardly any noise on the concrete as they ran.
"What do you mean?"
"Most likely you are like me. I cannot turn into a cloud or a creature either. But I can shift my features, like so, and take on a different—but human—disguise. Try it."
Schuyler tried. She closed her eyes and concentrated on changing her features instead of shifting her entire form. Within seconds she found she had effectively morphed into one of the rich, pumped-up Argentine patronas who were on vacation in the country.
They reached the top of the mountain and stood underneath the statue. Nobody was there. It was quiet and peaceful.
Not for the first time that evening Schuyler wondered if her grandfather was losing it. Weren't they at the wrong place? Why had he brought them here? For what? "Maybe we're too late. Or they're not coming. We should really head to the Almeidas and see if …"
"HUSH!" Lawrence commanded.
She shut up.
They walked the perimeter of the statue's base. Nothing. They were alone. Schuyler began to panic. Why were they here when their people were being killed somewhere else? They should go back; this was a big mistake.
She walked around the northeast side, convinced Lawrence had guessed incorrectly. There was nothing to …
"Schuyler! WATCH OUT!" Oliver yelled. He had crept up the mountain behind them, unwilling to be left behind.
Schuyler looked up. There was a man in a white suit standing right in front of her, with a golden sword pointed directly at her chest.
She ducked and hit the ground hard, just as Lawrence removed his own blade from a hidden scabbard in his jacket.
The two swords clashed, one golden and fiery, the other icy and silver, the metals ringing against each other, echoing a sound that carried to the valley below.
"Blood traitor!" Mimi hissed.
"Put down your weapon, Azrael," Kingsley said quietly, still holding his own.
"You will not find me such easy prey as the others," she spat.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded. "I saw the black smoke from the street. My God, what has happened here?"
"You set this up. Don't play the innocent. We all know what you really are, Croatan." Mimi spat, shooting him a look of pure disgust.
"I realize it is hard for you to believe, but I have only just managed to escape from a rather nasty stasis spell myself," he said sourly. "I went to pick up Alfonso for our usual golf game, and the next thing I know I'm trapped in the back of my own car. As soon as I extricated myself I came down here to warn the others."
Mimi sniffed. A fine story Kingsley was telling her. Playing the victim once again. Yeah, right, he'd been detained. When it would have been so easy for him to leave the house from the back and come in the front door.
But what would he gain by keeping her alive? Why didn't he just finish it off? Gut her throat and be done with it?
"Where's Lawrence?" Kingsley coughed as several explosions shook the ground beneath them. "I tried sending him a message, but I couldn't find him in the glom."
"He's not here," Mimi said, noticing that Kingsley had lowered his dagger. She could kill him now, while he was unguarded. But what if he was telling the truth? Or was his act just another part of the trap?
Before she could make a decision, there was a crash, and Forsyth Llewellyn appeared. He was carrying the limp body of his wife. His clothes were singed, and he sported a deep gash on his forehead. So he had survived as well. Mimi felt a little better. Maybe there were more survivors. But where had the Silver Bloods gone? After she had felled Nan Cutler, the rest of them seemed to have disappeared in the smoke.
"Everyone else is dead," Mimi told Forsyth. "You and I are the only ones left. I saw Edmund fall, Dashiell, Cushing…everyone. The Regent."
"Nan's dead?" Forsyth Llewellyn asked, aghast.
"She was one of them," Mimi told him, her eyes watering from the smoke. "I killed her myself."
"You…"
"C'mon, we've got to get out of here," Kingsley said, suddenly pulling the two of them out of the doorway, which crashed to the ground in flames.
If Kingsley wanted her dead, he sure wasn't acting like it.
"Thanks," she said, tucking her sword—again the size of a needle—back into her bag, which she miraculously found she was still holding.
Kingsley didn't reply, his face hardening as he looked above her shoulder. Meanwhile, Forsyth Llewellyn looked utterly lost, sitting in the middle of the street with his head in his hands.
Mimi turned to where Kingsley was looking. The grand eighteenth-century villa was now a giant black fireball. It was a crematorium. The Silver Bloods were back. And they had struck deep into the heart of the Coven.
The Second Great War had begun.
From far away, Schuyler heard the sound of grunts and screams, the clanging of metal against metal.
Wake up.
Wake up, child.
There was a voice inside her head. A sending.
A voice she had heard before.
She opened her eyes. Her mother stood before her. Allegra Van Alen was clad in white raiments, and she held a golden sword in her hands. For me ?
What was once mine is rightfully yours.
Stunned, Schuyler took the sword. Once she did, the image of her mother disappeared. Allegra…Come back…Schuyler thought, suddenly afraid. But a desperate yell from Oliver brought her back to the present.
She looked up and saw Lawrence locked in a fierce struggle with his adversary. His sword fell to the ground. Above him loomed the white, shining presence. It was so bright it was blinding, like looking into the sun. It was the Lightbringer. The Morningstar.
Her blood froze.
Lucifer.
"Schuyler!" Oliver's voice was hoarse. "Kill it!"
Schuyler raised her mother's sword, saw it glinting in the moonlight, a long, pale, deadly shaft. Raised it in the direction of the enemy. Ran with all her might and thrust her weapon toward its heart.
And missed.
But she had given Lawrence time to regain his weapon, and it was his blade that found its mark, slicing into the enemy's chest and spilling blood everywhere.