THIRTY-ONE

Gatekeeper

Schuyler flinched as the ladies-in-waiting did their worst.

They rouged her cheeks and lips, slicked her hair with hippo-potamus oil (a beauty secret that Nefertiti was said to have popularized), then curled it in ringlets and soaked her skin in greasy perfume. They told her to strip down to her underwear and forced her into a lacy white dress with a corset that nipped her waist and had a dangerously low neckline. As threatened, they padded her bustline with a pair of breast-shaped foam cutlets.

“Work with what we can,” the older woman sneered, tightening the stays until Schuyler felt she couldn’t breathe.

The younger one brought high-heeled slippers for her to wear. “Remember, it’s better not to fight,” she said kindly.

“There’s no getting out of it, so you might as well try to enjoy it.”

Schuyler did not reply. When they left her alone, she walked to the mirror, appalled at her reflection. She looked like a perversion of a bride: the dress bordered on indecent, with a slit up the leg that reached her thigh, and the fabric was almost see-through. She’d never worn anything this revealing in her life, not even at the beach.

She wondered how Deming and Dehua were faring, and hoped they would be able to take care of themselves. Had she led them into the worst danger of all? She thought of what was about to happen, and tried not to panic. She would find a way out of this, she told herself, with a hand on her stomach. She would survive whatever injury was awaiting her. She would be strong so she could live. She tried not to think of Danel’s hard, cruel gaze, and the images he had sent to her mind. Whatever happened, she would fight him. And if she could not, then she would concentrate on living beyond it. She would not give in to fear and despair.

The door opened, and Schuyler inhaled sharply, wondering if her time was up. She whispered a prayer to her mother to help her stay strong.

Another of the ladies-in-waiting, a white-haired woman wearing gauzy silk robes and jangly bracelets, entered the room. However, she had not come to fix Schuyler’s hair or check that she was adequately perfumed. “Come quickly,” she said. “We have a little time before the Croatan arrive. We must free the others.”

Schuyler followed her savior through the maze of hallways. “Who are you?” she asked.

The woman smiled. She had a serenity and grace about her that Schuyler found familiar. “I think you already know.”

“You’re Catherine of Siena,” Schuyler whispered, a little awed that, in the end, her plan had worked. “The gatekeeper.”

Catherine reminded Schuyler of her own mother. Allegra had the same graceful sense of purpose, gave the same impression that she was floating far above the problems of the world.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Catherine said. “But when they took away your sword I knew I had to wait until they handed you over to the ladies. I had a better chance of getting you out then.”

“I came with two friends—”

“Yes. They’re being kept down here,” Catherine said, running a few steps that led to another long hallway. She tested a few doors in a row and finally found the right one. They burst into the room to find Dehua dressed in similar fashion. Her wedding dress was even more indecent—a jeweled bikini top and a low-slung skirt. She ripped off a gem-encrusted lace veil as soon as she saw her rescuers, and leapt to her feet.

“You are unharmed?” Catherine asked.

“Just let them try to touch me,” Dehua said with contempt. “We need our swords back.”

“I have them,” Catherine said. “They were in the armory. I was able to retrieve them before the greedy demons took them,” she said, handing the girls their weapons.

Dehua stuck her blade into her garter and nodded to Schuyler. “They found out you were Fallen as well?”

“Yes.”

“Where is my sister?” she asked Schuyler.

“I thought she was with you,” Catherine said, interrupt-ing. “I thought they kept the two of you together. I heard that they were selling you both as one unit.”

“No. They separated us when they handed us over to the devil’s handmaidens. I heard them say something about taking her to the ‘Castle Styx.’ I think Deming fought them—I heard a scuffle—and that was her punishment. She never waits. I wish she hadn’t shown her hand so early.”

Catherine shook her head. “That’s too far. The castle is beyond Limbo and right at the border of the Kingdom of the Dead. We can’t make it there and back out of the gate in time.”

“We are not leaving her!” Dehua cried.

Schuyler agreed. “We can’t leave her here. I brought them here. I need to make sure they get out,” she said to the gatekeeper.

“If you go after her, I cannot guarantee your safety,” Catherine said. It was too late to argue, however, for as they turned a corner, they had to quickly back away, finding the next passage filled with trolls. Their disappearance had not escaped notice for long. Schuyler had never seen creatures like this before. They were wild and feral, and they sniffed the air, looking for clues.

“Too late—we’ve got to go now,” Catherine said. “We’ll take the underground path toward the gate. Once we reach past it, they won’t be able to follow.”

The trolls rounded the next corner and made guttural noises to each other; then one of them let out a long and powerful ear-shattering scream.

“That’s the alarm. In a second we’ll have demons here too, and Croatan,” Catherine said, pushing them down toward an underground path. “We need to get through the gate.

Now.”

Schuyler and Dehua had no choice but to follow, and their speed took them quickly through the narrow passage until they reached an opening. They ran toward what looked like a huge fortress that blocked the whole sky. It looked as if it was made of sheer rock, impenetrable; less than a gate and more like a mountain made of granite.

“Where’s the gate?” Schuyler panted.

“That is it,” Catherine said. “It only stops the demon-blooded. We’ll be able to pass.” She shoved the girls toward it.

Schuyler thought she would hit the firmament, but instead she passed through what felt like a field of cobwebs, a fluffy cotton gauze. Then she was through and standing on a hard stone floor, with a transparent wall behind her. She could hear their voices.

“NO!” Dehua said. “I’m not leaving here without my sister!”

The trolls were a breath away, their grunting language ugly and harsh. Beyond them was a piercing scream, the sound of a woman dying. Schuyler felt her blood run cold.

That was Deming’s voice, and soon Dehua was screaming as well—a shriek that shook the heavens. “My sister!”

“Schuyler—help me!” Catherine called, and through the wall, Schuyler saw the gatekeeper push the Venator through the gate. She reached for Dehua on the other side, and together they were able to pull the screaming twin to safety, the three of them falling on the floor as the trolls thumped against the gate and a demon howled.

But the gate held. The strength of the angels kept the creatures on the other side for now. The trolls crashed against it, but it was no use. Dehua fell to the ground, weeping.

Schuyler wanted to weep as well. She tried to comfort the girl and put her arms around her, but Dehua pushed her away roughly.

Catherine pressed her hands against the wall and muttered an incantation. The vision of the trolls disappeared and the wall turned solid, as the Gate of Promise closed.

Now that she was out of the glom, Schuyler looked at her surroundings. They were in a small stone room and the ceiling was pointed. She recognized the shape of the space even from the inside as one of the Giza pyramids. It was just as she’d thought; the Gate of Promise couldn’t have been in a more prominent or popular area of Cairo. It had been right in front of her all along.