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key.”
    “Lawrence is finished.” The

way Trinity said it, it sounded as if Lawrence were an actor who had merely finished his role in

a play. Not passed away. Not dead. Not gone forever.
    Finished.
    There was another thing,

something strange her grandfather had said that Schuyler wanted confirmed. She wasn’t sure if

Trinity would know anything about it, but she had to ask. “He also said that I have a sister, and

that she will be . . . that she will be our death.” Schuyler felt silly repeating such a dramatic

statement. “I have a sister?”
    Trinity did not answer for a

long time. The sound of hair dryers and patrons gossiping with their stylists filled the silence.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and guarded. “In the sense that your mother had

another daughter, yes. But that was long ago, long before you were born, in a different

cycle, in a different century. And the girl was taken care of. Lawrence and Charles saw to that.

Lawrence . . . One reason he went into exile was that he never gave up on his fantasies. He was

dying, Schuyler, and you will have to understand . . . he was grasping at straws, trying to tie

up loose ends. He probably wasn’t even in his right mind.”
    So Lawrence had told the

truth. She had a sister. Who? When? She was already dead? Taken care of , what did

that mean?
    But Trinity refused to

elaborate further. “I have already told you too much,” she said with a frown.
    “The Conclave has asked me to

testify tomorrow about what happened in Rio. Will you be there?” Schuyler asked a little

wistfully. It suddenly struck her how much she needed a mother in her life. Trinity had never

tried to fill that role, but she had a pragmatic no-nonsense way about her that reminded Schuyler

of Cordelia. It was better than nothing.
    “I am sorry, Schuyler, but I

won’t be able to come. As usual, the Red Bloods have let greed take over their financial system.

With Charles gone, I am obligated to the board to do what little I can to staunch the bloodbath.

I leave for Washington tonight.”
    “It’s all right.” Schuyler

hadn’t expected anything else.
    “And, Schuyler?” Trinity looked at her keenly, as a mother would when chastising a wayward daughter.

“ since your return, your room has been empty.”
    “I know,” Schuyler said

simply. “I’m not going to live with your family anymore.”
    Trinity sighed. “I will not

stop you. But know that when you are out of our house, you are out of our protection. We cannot

help you.”
    “I understand. I’ll take that

risk.” Out of habit, Schuyler and Trinity exchanged double-cheek air kisses and said good-bye.

Schuyler left the soothing warm cocoon of the beauty salon and went out into the streets of New

York, alone.
    Charles Force was gone.

Charles Force was a dead end. He had disappeared, taking his secrets with him.
    She would have to discover the

Van Alen Legacy on her own.

TWELVE

Schuyler

    The Baron de Coubertin was

dressed as Attila the Hun in full battle armor, with a bow and arrow in a quiver slung over one

shoulder, along with a shield and a throwing spear. On his head he wore a pointed metal cap over

a wig of long black hair. His long beard was also fake .
    He approached with a

terrifying frown on his face and tapped Schuyler on the shoulder. “La contesse voudrait que vous me suiviez , s’il vous plait.” The countess would like you to follow me,

please. Then he turned abruptly on his heel. Schuyler and Oliver began to walk together behind

him, but the baron stopped them.
    “The countess grants a meeting

only to Miss Van Alen,” he said in perfect English, looking sternly at Oliver as if he were a

nuisance. “You will stay here.”
    Schuyler nodded over Oliver’s

protests.
    “I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you

after,” she said. ‘ don’t worry.”
    She felt stares from the other

guests turned their way. Who was the