Gates of Paradise - By Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,17

right size and look....Would you mind walking for us?"

Schuyler laughed, feeling flattered. But before she could answer, a glamazon - six feet tall, all cheekbones and thick dark hair; an exotic, wild creature - stomped down the aisle in three-inch clogs. "Tills! Sorry, the tube was blocked - some sort of accident at Euston Station - had to call a minicab."

"Gooch! Thank God!" Tilly shrieked as they exchanged effusive air-kisses.

Oliver nudged Schuyler. "Close call," he said with a grin.

"Ollie? What are you doing here?" the model asked, upon spotting Oliver. "Brilliant party the other night, by the way! I had a colossal hangover the next morning!"

Oliver tried to explain, but he too was given the frantic double air-kiss before the two gorgeous girls disappeared back behind the curtain.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised?" Schuyler asked with a wry smile. "You do seem to know half the girls in London."

Oliver didn't even blush. "Oh, that's just Gucci Westfield-Smith. A friend of Kingsley's."

"Uh-huh. Right," Schuyler said.

The lights went out and the show began; the overhead speakers blared a song that was all thumping bass line and sultry breathing. The model - Gucci Something-or-other - walked out wearing nothing but a feather headdress and a nude bodysuit. She walked with her hands on her hips and gave Oliver a seductive glower at the end of the runway before twisting away.

Tilly came out from behind the stage and took a seat next to Schuyler and Oliver. "Shhh," the designer said, smiling with anticipation.

There were more variations on the Nude/Native theme. More elaborate headdresses, fringed Navajo ponchos, suede moccasins, and dresses made out of multicolored plumage and rows of beads.

"So, what did you think?" Tilly asked, when the lights came on and the models had returned backstage.

Oliver clapped and stood. "Fantastic. Brilliant."

"I loved it too," Schuyler agreed. "You know what might be great? Have your makeup artist draw masks on the girls," she suggested, recalling the after-party of the Four Hundred Ball, when Mimi had taken "masquerade" to a new level.
Chapter Nine

Mimi

here did he go? How could he disappear like that? He knew it was her, didn't he? Knew it was Mimi underneath the brown bob and the brown eyes that were part of her disguise? Underneath the illusion, underneath the glamour - he knew her intimately, he knew her soul, he had to have seen her - truly seen her, hadn't he? She would recognize him anywhere. In any guise, under any mask. Why couldn't he?

She followed Danel through the tunnels to the other end of the station, relieved that he seemed to have taken the kiss in stride. It probably wasn't the first time a girl had thrown herself on him for an impromptu make-out session. Maybe he was used to it. They took the escalator up to the next level. And that's when Mimi saw Kingsley on the escalator going down the other way. He was laughing and chatting with the same girls.

Mimi realized her jealousy was irrelevant. This was her chance to let Kingsley and the vampires know what Lucifer was up to. Maybe then he could help somehow.

When she stepped off the escalator, she turned to Danel. "I don't feel well - I need to go back down to the ladies'."

"Okay, I'll wait for you here."

She nodded and hurried down. She pushed her way through the crowd until she was standing right behind him on the platform.

Kingsley Martin.

She wavered. She could smell him - that blend of cigarettes and coffee and whiskey that she knew so well. She could reach over and touch his hair, his neck, slip her hand into his, and they could get away from all this. What did it matter? Let the Dark Prince take Paradise. She and Kingsley could make a heaven here on earth.

Who cared about the coming war? Who cared about the Covens and the survival of the vampires? Was she even a vampire anymore? She had expected the thirst to come back, once she was free of the underworld, but there was nothing. She hadn't had a bite in weeks.

They could forget all this. She could whisper in his ear and tell him to escape with her.

But he would hate her. He would hate her for giving up, for giving in, for being selfish. She was no longer that girl. She had grown up so much. She couldn't do it. Not to him, not to Oliver, and more important, not to herself.

Plus, what hope did any of the vampires have if she