"Make mine a whiskey," Oliver coughed.
"Make that two," Schuyler quickly added, thinking she would risk her grandfather's censure later. "Who's Leviathan?" she asked, turning to Oliver. Around them the bar was starting to fill up with sunburned tourists coming in for happy hour, and a samba band began to play a rousing set.
"If you'd done your reading, Granddaughter, you would know the answer to that question," Lawrence replied.
"Leviathan's a demon. " Oliver explained.
"One of the mightiest Silver Bloods of all time," Lawrence said. "The brother of the Dark Prince himself. His second-in-command. "
Schuyler shuddered. "But what's he got to do with anything?" She wished the music weren't so loud. The bright, happy sound was in stark contrast to the dark subject of their conversation.
"Corcovado is Leviathan's prison," Lawrence replied. "It is the only place on earth that could hold him. He was too strong to be slain, and was too rooted in the earth to be sent back to hell. When he was captured he was imprisoned in rock underneath the Statue of the Redeemer. Your own mother took him down. "
So that's what Lawrence was keeping from her the night he left. Protecting her from the truth and not telling her everything about Corcovado. Leviathan. That visceral hatred she'd felt the day of the fashion show. If she'd paid more attention to her books she could have figured it out sooner. But she'd been too distracted. . .
"Yes. That was him that evening of the earthquake," Lawrence confirmed. "He is the reason Corcovado is guarded by the Venator elite. We have always kept a strong presence here. "
"Now I get it," Schuyler said. "Why you came down here, I mean. "
Lawrence nodded. "When Kingsley first brought news of the strange disappearances in Rio, I was a bit unnerved. After the earthquake, I realized I would have to take matters into my own hands and make certain Corcovado remained fortified. I vowed I would not leave the city until I was sure that the threat - if there was one - was completely disarmed.
"Then a few weeks ago, the Venators confirmed that Yana, the young vampire who'd been missing, had simply run off for a beach vacation with her boyfriend, just as her mother had thought. Meanwhile Kingsley's team brought in Alfonso Almeida, the missing patriarch of the South American clan, after an extensive search in the Andes. Aside from frostbite and an inability to read a map, he was fine.
"So as I told you in my messages, everything was secure. There was no breaking. "
"Leviathan?" Oliver asked.
"Trapped for eternity as far as I could see," Lawrence said dismissively.
"But the sending. . . the earthquake," Schuyler argued, trying to talk over the deafening sound of the crowd and the relentless samba drums.
"Mere symptoms in his struggle to break free of his chains. Nothing Leviathan has tried before. But it is of no use. Corcovado will hold forever. " He rapped the table with his glass, as if to stress his point.
"So why does the Conclave think Corcovado is a danger then?" she asked.
"Is that why they are here?"
Schuyler nodded.
"I don't know. But Nan must have her reasons; the Regent would never act without just cause. " Lawrence finished his drink. "Then again, maybe Kingsley is right," he said softly to himself.
"Kingsley!" Schuyler exploded. "How can you trust him? You said yourself, never to trust shiny surfaces. Kingsley's as slick as they come. "
"Actually Kingsley has proven his loyalty to the Coven above and beyond the call of duty. Do not speak of him so disrespectfully, Granddaughter," Lawrence said sternly.
"That stunt he pulled at the Repository? That was how he proved his loyalty?"
"Kingsley was only doing what was asked of him. He was following the orders of his Regis. "
"You mean Charles told him to call up the Silver Blood?" Schuyler half laughed in indignation. Michael was an Archangel. He would never be capable of such treachery.
"There is a reason for everything. Perhaps even for this sudden influx of Elders into this city," Lawrence surmised.
"You know, the Almeidas are giving a dinner tonight," Oliver interrupted. "For the whole Conclave. " He checked his watch. "I think it's already started. "
Lawrence signaled for the bill. "Very good. Perhaps we will find our answers there. At the very least, the Almeidas throw a wonderful party. "
Chapter Thirty-eight
There was a sharp rap on the door, and Bliss noticed how both her parents jumped at the sound. Forsyth took a quick step and looked through the keyhole. "It's all right," he declared, unlocking the door. A stern, elegant woman with a white streak in her raven hair strode into the room, followed by two servants.
Bliss had always been a little afraid of Warden Cutler. The Elder had been the one who had probed her mind for Silver Blood corruption. She still remembered the disquieting feeling of being judged.
"Where is the Watcher?" Nan Cutler asked.
BobiAnne indicated the bundle at the far end of the room.
"You've put her in stasis?"
Forsyth nodded. "Yes. It's going to be a long time until she wakes up. "
"We found her with this," BobiAnne said, handing Jordan's weapon to the Warden.
"We need to find a way to destroy it; it's too dangerous for us to use," Forsyth said. "I thought that spell was enough to hold it in the vault, but obviously she was able to disarm it. She's too clever by half. "
"If there is a way to destroy it," Nan said. "It's not susceptible to the Black Fire. "
"You will be able to manage?" Forsyth asked.
"You won't be followed?" BobiAnne wanted to know.
Bliss watched as the grim-faced Warden shook her head. "No, we will not be followed. We will make sure of that. It is amazing she waited this long, really, to make her move. But do not worry, I will make certain that she is no longer a threat to us. " She looked with disdain in the direction of the comforter. "Cordelia Van Alen was weak minded as usual to think sending the Watcher into your family would solve anything. "
"She suspected, then?" BobiAnne asked.
"Of course she suspected," Forsyth snapped. "You don't give her enough credit, Nan. That bird was sharp. She knew something was up. "
"A pity her little assassin was as ineffectual as she was, then. " Nan signaled, and her servants picked up the bundle and left the room.
Bliss had no idea what they were talking about, but was desperate to find out. What did Cordelia Van Alen suspect?
"We have to hurry," BobiAnne said to her husband. "The dinner starts in an hour. "
Forsyth nodded.
"What's going on? Where are you going?" Bliss asked, fighting tears of frustration. "Where are they taking Jordan?" She wondered what had sparked her little sister to do something so crazy. But her parents refused to explain or tell her anything more than the cryptic comments they'd made.
They left for the big dinner at the Almeidas', as if nothing at all had happened. BobiAnne even told Bliss she could order anything she wanted off the room-service menu.
She had to accept it.
Jordan was gone.
Her younger sister, who used to follow her around, trying to emulate her every move. At five Jordan had wanted big curly hair like her sister, and forced the maids to use a curling iron on her stubbornly straight locks, so that her hair would resemble her sister's. Jordan, who had called her "Biss" when she was a baby because she couldn't pronounce her name correctly. Jordan, who'd offered her chocolate and comfort just the other day. Bliss found that there were tears in her eyes.
Bliss understood that she would never see Jordan again.
Why these tears ? A low, sympathetic voice asked.
I'm sad.
Jordan tried to hurt Bliss.
I know. But she was my sister. My friend.
What kind of friend brings pain?
Bliss suddenly remembered how she'd
felt as if she were being torn in two. She'd experienced more pain than she had ever felt in her life. Jordan had done that. She had aimed for the heart. She'd tried to kill Bliss with that weapon - something bright and golden, like a sword.
But it was different from the sword her father kept in his study. The sword Forsyth had used during the attack at the Repository - when the Silver Blood had killed Priscilla Dupont - was a dull yellow gold. The blade Jordan had used emanated a bright white light.
Nan Cutler had said it couldn't be destroyed, and Bliss suddenly remembered Mimi's words: the Blade of Justice was missing. Did her father have Michael's sword? The only thing in the world that could kill Lucifer? The Archangel's sword? And if so, why had Jordan used it against her? Bliss felt a pounding headache coming on.
I didn't have a choice, her sister had said that afternoon.
Why not?
Bliss gradually stopped feeling so sorry for Jordan. She began to feel glad that they had taken her away. Wherever they'd taken her, Jordan deserved to be there. Bliss hoped it was a dark, deep dungeon where Jordan could think for eternity on her crimes.
Excellent, said the voice in the back of her mind. She recognized it now. It sounded like the gentleman in the white suit. The one who called her "Daughter. "
Then once again she could see, but she could not see. She was going to black out. Yes, it was happening right now. She tried to hold on to her vision, tried to fight it, but the same voice inside her head said, "Let go. "
And Bliss let go.
She found it was sweet relief to surrender.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Mimi chose a gorgeous little Valentino cocktail dress to wear to the dinner party. It was a black-and-white strapless confection, with a tight bodice that accented her tiny waist. A thick black band and a dramatic lace bow added just the right hint of girlish insouciance. She had bought it straight from the couture show and brought it to Brazil, because she knew she would have stiff competition from all those Almeidas and da Limas and Ribeiros - annoyingly beautiful Brazilians with blockbuster wardrobes. She still didn't understand what they were all doing in Rio. Something about Lawrence, of course. And Kingsley she wasn't sure. Nan Cutler, that wrinkled hag, had been a little vague about the whole thing. But that was the way of the Conclave: they didn't question their leaders. Nan Cutler was Regent, and if she wanted the Elders in Brazil, then the Elders would be there.
A security detail picked her up from the hotel and took her to the sprawling villa. Mimi thought it ironic that while her hosts' massive mansion commanded a grand view of the city, those wretched little huts she saw on the way, precariously perched on the cliff edges, probably had an even better view.
She had expected a bigger to-do, and was surprised to find that only her fellow Conclave members were expected. The Brazilians usually threw massive parties, with samba dancers and festivities all through the night. But the evening was a quiet one, and Mimi politely chatted to a few of the wardens and Alfonso Almeida's intimidating wife, Dona Beatrice, before finding her seat at dinner.
The first course was served, a warm and rich mushroom soup that consisted of a clear broth poured over a mound of mushroom pate. Mimi took a tentative sip. It was delicious. "So Edmund, about our host committee for the spring gala," she said, turning to the dinner partner on her right. She had hoped to meet more tasty Brazilian men at the party, but since none were to be had, she settled for tackling some unresolved Committee business.
"Has the mayor's girlfriend turned you down already?" Edmund inquired, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
Mimi grimaced. "We haven't asked. You can't be serious. She's such a frump. Plus, she has no interest in ballet, you know. "
Edmund Oelrich chuckled as he sipped his wine, then suddenly began to choke. She assumed his meal had gone down the wrong way when blood began to spurt from his mouth. Mimi screamed. The Chief Warden had been stabbed in the back. On her left, Sophia Dupont was slumped over her soup, a silver dagger wedged into the small of her back.
Then the lights went out, and all was darkness.
This is a trap, Mimi thought, feeling an otherworldly calm as she dove under the table, faster than the knife that was meant for her heart now pinned to the back of her chair.
Silver Bloods!
Of course. But the Almeidas. . . they were from the royal line! How could they have turned?
The fight was silent and swift. There was hardly a scream or a cry, only the hair-raising sound of her fellow Wardens gurgling blood. The Conclave was being slaughtered.
Mimi attempted to collect her thoughts, to remember what she knew, to remember how to fight them. Good Lord, it had been centuries since she had confronted the beasts. Bliss had described seeing a shadowy creature with silver eyes and crimson pupils that night at the Repository. But Silver Bloods could assume any shape they chose, to camouflage their true form.
Mimi bade herself to think, to remember. Her memories responded by flooding her mind with images that almost made her scream. Running through a dark forest, the tree branches scraping her skin, hearing the sound of her leather sandals slapping against the dirt path, feeling the high adrenaline rush of running for her life. . . but what was this, she was the one in pursuit. The beast was running away from her. She saw the mark of Lucifer on its skin, glowing in the dark.
She returned to the present. Though the room was pitch black, with her vampire sight, she saw Dashiell Van Horn stabbed through the heart, witnessed Cushing Carondolet drained of all his blood, as a Silver Blood held the elderly Warden in its grasp. The room echoed with violent sucking sounds as the predator vampires alternately drank or disposed of their victims. When they were finished the Silver Bloods would take the shape of their victims. The vampire who had been Dorothea Rockefeller was no more. Replaced by a walking corpse with dead eyes.
Too many of the Elders were slow and out of shape. Out of practice. They had forgotten how to fight.
Mimi trembled as she grasped her sword, currently the size of a needle that she'd stowed in her sequined evening bag. It was her only chance to get out of the house alive. But she was outnumbered. She would not be able to cut her way to freedom. Not now. There were too many of them for her to take alone. God, their numbers! Who knew they had so many? Where had they come from? She would have to hide. It was her only hope for survival.
She inched her way out of the dining room to the hallway, picking her way through to an exit. So far she had escaped notice. Until she did not.
"Azrael. " The voice was cold and deadly.
Mimi turned to see Nan Cutler standing behind her, holding a sword to her chin. The Warden had lost her old-crone disguise - she looked as young as Mimi, and infinitely strong. Her white hair was a now a burnished gold, and the raven stripe a glossy river of black.
"You!" Mimi accused. But the Cutlers were one of the original seven. One of the oldest and most respected families. Nan Cutler was Harbonah. The Angel of Annihilation. They had fought together side by side during the first inquisition, when Michael had commanded a heavenly army and had decimated their renegade vampire foes. "But why?" she asked, turning quickly and unsheathing her blade, knocking away Nan's sword.
In answer, Nan slashed forward, slicing the air where Mimi had stood.
Her eyes flashed. "You do not have to perish," she said, lunging forward.
Mimi grunted, parrying with a swift counterattack.
"You could join us. Join your brothers and sisters who are still fighting the good fight. "
The stupid witch actually thinks I would join their side? After everything Abbadon and I went through to secure this fragile peace we've found on Earth? Mimi thought.
"You are one of us. You do not belong to the Light. It is not your true nature, Death-bringer. "
Mimi refused to reply and instead focused on locating Nan's vulnerability. They battled throug
h the room, which was starting to fill with dark smoke.
They're burning down the house, Mimi thought, panicking. Burning it with black fire, the only kind that could destroy the sangre azul. . . the immortal blue blood that ran in their veins. Destroy the blood, destroy the vampire. . . memories lost forever. True death for their kind.
Nan cut Mimi's arm with her blade, her weapon finally drawing first blood.
Bitch!
That hurt!
Mimi forgot to feel afraid, and sprung forward with no thought to her safety. She screamed a battle cry, one that came to mind only at that instant. One that Michael himself had used to rally his armies to battle.
"NEXI INFIDELES!" she roared. Death to the Faithless! Death to the Traitors! She was Azrael. Golden and terrifying. Her hair and face and sword aflame with a blazing, incandescent light.
And with a powerful sweep she cleaved the false Warden in two.
Then she staggered backward. Black smoke was filling her lungs. She had to get out of there. She felt her way to the front door and yanked it open - just as a black-haired man was entering from the other side. In seconds he held a knife to her throat.
Her heart dropped.
The man holding her captive was Kingsley Martin.
The Silver Blood traitor.
This was her doom.
Chapter Forty
Lawrence had insisted he drive, and as they made their way along the dark curvy highway, Schuyler couldn't help but notice the tiny, flickering lights against the hillside and how beautiful they were.
"Yeah, but they're probably from the slums, which means the electricity infrastructure wasn't set up correctly. And is a potential fire hazard," Oliver pointed out.
Schuyler sighed. The city was rich in juxtapositions: poverty and wealth, crime and tourism in a heady, dizzying mix. It was impossible to admire the beauty without also noticing the ugliness.
They rounded a particularly sharp corner when Lawrence suddenly pulled the car to the side of the road and slumped forward in his seat.
"Grandfather!" she cried, alarmed. She saw his eyes begin to dart back and forth, as if he were asleep but not asleep. He was receiving a sending.
When it ended, his face was ashen. For a moment Schuyler thought he was going to faint.
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