Jack cleared his throat, and Schuyler was surprised to see him there. He had been so quiet during her grandfather's lecture. "I think I'll take your leave, Lawrence. Schuyler.”
The door to the room opened just as Jack was about to exit.
Oliver Hazard-Perry stood in the doorway, looking flustered at seeing Jack. "I heard Schuyler had to go home from school. I was worried, I came as soon as I could.”
The three vampires looked at him, all with the same thought on their minds.
Oliver was a human boy. A Red Blood. And Schuyler needed a familiar….
"What?" Oliver asked, when no one replied. "Do I smell or something?”
THIRTY-THREE
It was time to try her plan. The roses had been the last straw. It was not only that—her brother was becoming bolder and bolder in his pursuit of the half-blood. He hardly ever tried to disguise the fact that he lingered in hall ways outside Schuyler's classroom, or had taken to hanging out in the library at school or the Repository to catch a glimpse of her. Mimi had even caught the two of them shamelessly flirting in public! The other day a friend told her she had seen Jack actually walk out of the school with Schuyler in his arms! Not that Mimi even believed that one.
Mimi drew the pentagram as the book had instructed, with a small white chalk on the pale blond hardwood floor. Then she placed the necessary ingredients together in a small steel bowl on her dressing-room table: verbena leaves, bay leaves, a cluster of tiger lilies, marjoram, a toad heart, and a bat wing. The array looked out of place among the many crystal bottles of perfume and expensive French lotions.
She lit a candle and drew a flame from it with a stick of rosemary. She blew out the candle as directed and threw the burning herb into the bowl.
A tall, violet flame erupted.
Mimi glanced at herself in the mirror and was surprised to find that the room, which only moments before had been filled with afternoon sunlight, was now pitch black, save for the light shooting up from the bowl.
Her hands trembled slightly as she opened a small, glassine envelope that contained Schuyler Van Alen's hair. She shook out the contents and held it in her hand.
The book instructed her to throw the hair into the flame, while saying the words that would vanquish her enemy. Mimi closed her eyes and tossed it into the fire.
"I, Azrael, command the spirits. Annul the power of my rival.
"I, Azrael, command the spirits. Annul the power of my rival.
"I, Azrael, command the spirits. Annul the power of my rival.”
"MIMI!" The door flew open. Charles Force stood at the entryway. With a wave of his hand, he extinguished the bright violet flame.
Mimi opened her eyes and gasped. She tried vainly to wipe off the traces of the pentagram with her foot. "I was just curious," she explained. "The Committee never lets us do anything….”
He walked over to her side and poked a finger into the burning embers. "It is understandable. We are made from dark magic—we who are condemned to walk the earth forever. But these incantations are very strong. If you do not know how to control them, they can control you. That is why it is forbidden to the young until you are ready.”
Charles picked up the book on her desk. "Where did you get this? I know, The Repository. But this is kept under lock and key. It is a dangerous book for those who are not yet of age.”
He tucked the book under his arm. "Darling, why don't you find something else to do with your time?”
When her father left, Mimi picked up her white princess phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Kingsley," Mimi asked. "Can I talk to you for a minute?”
"Sure, baby, what's on your mind?”
"You know that thing you said? About calling up a Silver Blood from the Dark?”
"Yeah.”
"Do you think it would work?”
THIRTY-FOUR
"There's something different about you," Kingsley said, one afternoon while they were supposedly doing homework in Bliss's bedroom. "Supposedly" because that's what Bliss liked to think was going to happen, but Kingsley always had other ideas. BobiAnne insisted that Bliss leave the door open to her room whenever she had a boy over—that was one of her rules. But BobiAnne wasn't there that afternoon. It was her weekly spa appointment, and she would be gone for hours. Jordan was at ballet rehearsal, which ran until midnight. Bliss was alone in the apartment, save for the staff, who were on the first floor, far away in the servants' wing.
"I got a haircut," Bliss offered, looking up from her German essay. She knew that wasn't what Kingsley was after. Ever since the double-bouquet delivery, Kingsley had been harassing her to find out the identity of Bliss's so-called "mystery man.”
"No, that's not it." Kingsley smiled. He was stretched out on her bed like a lazy cat, his black hair so long that it curled onto his shirt collar. His notebooks and binders were scattered around him, including that dark leather-bound book he was always reading. But in the past hour, he had done absolutely no homework and instead had been needling her all evening.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Bliss said stubbornly.
"I think you do," Kingsley drawled. "It's written all over you.”
"What?”
"You did it. You took a human during your little vacation or photo shoot, whatever you call it. Vou drank bees blaad," Kingsley said, affecting a Transylvanian accent. "Whoever gave them the idea that we were some provincial hicks from Eastern Europe was brilliant.”
"So what if I did?" Bliss asked.
"Oh, goody. Now we're getting somewhere. Did you like it?”
"You're not jealous?" Bliss asked.
"Jealous? Why would I be jealous?" Kingsley looked shocked. "I don't think you understand—it's like being jealous of your hairdresser. Familiars perform a service, that's all. We don't get emotionally attached to them.”
"We?”
"You know what I mean.”
Kingsley walked over to Bliss's side and began massaging her back. "C'mon, relax.…Are you still having those flashbacks? Those blackouts?”
Bliss nodded.
"Did you try doing what I suggested?" he asked.
She shook her head. She was too scared to do what he had proposed.
"Well, you should, it works. Worked for me." Kingsley's fingers kneaded her sore muscles expertly, and Bliss was soon swooning under his touch. It was like being hypnotized….
Red eyes with silver pupils, and a voice that whispered in a hiss…
Soon…
Soon…
Soon…
The beast had come again, chasing her down mazelike corridors. She felt its hot, foul breath on her cheek. She was trapped against a corner, and she could not wake up. She looked it in the eye. Do it, do it, she thought. Do what Kingsley said.
Talk to it.
What do you want? Bliss asked. I demand a palaver.
The crimson eyes blinked.
When Bliss woke up, she found she had scratched herself in fear. There were ugly red bruises all over her arms.
But Kingsley had been right. It had worked. The beast had gone.
Schiz•o•phre•ni•a (n.) Greek for "Shattered mind." Mental disorder characterized by impairments in the perception of reality. Persons having schizophrenia suffer from auditory delusions, visual hallucinations, disorganized speech (incoherence), disorganized behavior (crying frequently).
Continuous sign of disturbance must occur for more than six months in order for the patient to be diagnosed as such.
—Dictionary of Mental Disorders, American Academy of Mental Health Professionals
THIRTY-FIVE
The Mercer had been Oliver's idea. He'd nixed Schuyler's room or his, thinking it would be too weird to do "it" in the same place where they had spent so many innocent hours reading magazines and watching television. So he'd booked a suite at the downtown hotel.
He had convinced her to have a few drinks with him in the library bar before they went up to the room. "You might not
need a drink, but I definitely do," he'd said. Schuyler watched patiently as Oliver downed one Manhattan after another. Neither of them said much. The library bar was off-limits to non-hotel guests, and the two of them sat in a private corner. The only other patron was a movie star giving a magazine interview across the room. The movie star had her feet on the couch and she was laughing too loudly, while the reporter looked nervous and starstruck. A small silver recorder sat on the cocktail table between them.
"All right, let's do it," Oliver said, pushing away his half-finished third drink.
"God, you look like I've asked you to go to war," Schuyler said, as they walked toward the elevator.
The one-bedroom suite had a stunning view of downtown, and was decorated with a hip modern edge: dark Makassar ebony furniture, lamb's wool throw pillows, black epoxy floors polished to a high gloss, an onyx bar that glowed from within, a flat-screen television, and stainless steel walls that looked cold to the touch but actually felt smooth and warm, like butter.
"Cool," Schuyler said as she sat on one edge of the king-size bed, while Oliver sat on the other.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Oliver asked, sitting forward and putting his face on his hand.
"Ollie, if I don't, I'll pass out in a coma and I won't ever wake up. This morning I couldn't even get out of bed.”
He gulped.
"I hate to ask you this—but it's just, I don't know, I don't want my first time to be with someone I don't even know, you know?" She'd told him about what had happened to Bliss in Montserrat. “And you're my best friend.”
"Sky, you know I'd do anything for you. But this is against the Code. Conduits aren't allowed to be familiars to their vampires. We are supposed to be objective. It's not part of the relationship. Things like the Caerimonia, it complicates things, you know," Oliver explained.
When Schuyler had first asked Oliver a week ago if he would consider becoming her human familiar, he had told her he would think about it. The next day, he hadn't brought it up, and Schuyler assumed he was too polite to tell her no, so he was just going to act like she'd never asked him at all. Several days went by, and neither of them mentioned it. Schuyler was beginning to think she would have to find an alternate solution. But that morning, she had found an envelope stuffed into her locker. It was from the Mercer Hotel, and held a plastic door key for their suite. "See you there tonight," Oliver had written. "Chomp! Chomp!”
It wasn't as if Schuyler didn't have mixed feelings of her own she hated putting Oliver in this position—but she felt she had no choice. If she had to take a familiar, at least she would take one who was, forgive the pun, already familiar to her. And she'd felt drawn to Oliver since Venice. Maybe that was a sign it was going to be all right. That this was something that was supposed to happen.
"Just say the word, Ollie, and we won't do it, okay?" she offered, her hands gripping the edge of the bed, pulling out the sheets from their corners.
"Okay. Let's not do it," he said promptly. He sighed and lay down on the bed, waving his arms over the downy comforter. His long legs dangled from the edge but his torso was totally horizontal. He closed his eyes, as if the prospect was simply too much to bear, and put his hands on his face again, as if to shield himself from something.
"Do you mean it?" Schuyler asked a little fearfully.
"I don't know," Oliver groaned behind his hands, which were now folded over his mouth.
"It's just, you know, I'll be really careful, if you're scared, I mean. You have to trust me."
She was still sitting upright so that her words were spoken to the wall of windows, while Oliver seemed to be talking to the ceiling.
"I trust you," Oliver said in a strained, sad voice. "I trust you with my life.”
"I know it'll change our relationship, but we're best friends. It can't change that much, can it? I mean, I already love you," Schuyler said. Every word she said was true, she was very fond of Oliver. She couldn't imagine life without him.
She turned around to look at him. Oliver had removed his hands from his face and opened his eyes. She noticed how his chestnut hair framed his handsome face, and how his neck looked inviting under his stiff Oxford collar. "Don't you love me?" She knew she was being manipulative, but she couldn't help it. She needed Oliver to say yes. Otherwise…who would she do it with?
Oliver tried not to blush and couldn't quite meet Schuyler's eyes. He lifted himself to a sitting position once again. “All right," he said, almost more to himself than to her.
Schuyler moved closer to him and leaned against his body, and with a few small movements, she was sitting on his lap. "Okay?”
"You're heavy," he teased, but he was smiling.
"Am not.”
"All right, you're not.”
"You're cute, you know? I mean, really cute. Why do you spend all your time with me?
You should date," she said matter-of-factly as she brushed the hair out of his hazel eyes. They were the kindest eyes she had ever seen, she thought. She would always feel safe with Oliver.
"Yeah, me, date." Oliver laughed. He put his arms around her waist.
"Why not? It's not unheard of.”
"Yeah?" Oliver asked.
"Uh—" But Schuyler didn't finish, because Oliver was putting a warm hand on her chin and drawing her toward him, and soon they were kissing. Soft, tentative kisses that turned more vigorous as they opened their mouths to each other.
"Mmm…" she sighed. So this was what it was like. Kissing Oliver. It wasn't anything like she'd imagined. It was better. It was as if they were made for each other. Schuyler pressed herself against him, and Oliver put his hand through her hair. This was new. This was a turning point.
Then she started kissing his chin and his neck.
"Sky…”
"Mmmm?”
Suddenly, Oliver pushed her away, took her hands from behind his back, and abruptly shoved her off his lap.
"No," he said, panting heavily. His cheeks were aflame with embarrassment.
"No?" Schuyler asked, not understanding. It seemed like it was going well—this was what was meant to happen, wasn't it?
"No." Oliver stood up and started pacing. "The Sacred Kiss means something. It did to your mom. And you know what? You'll have to find another guinea pig. I'm not going to do it out of obligation.”
"Ollie.”
"Don't, Schuyler.”
He never called her Schuyler unless he was really mad. Schuyler shut up.
"I'm going. I can't be with you…You're not yourself." Oliver said, putting his coat on and slamming the door of the hotel room as he stormed out into the night.
THIRTY-SIX
In a hidden alcove deep within the underground stacks underneath the Repository of History, Mimi Force was leaning over an old leather-bound book. The same book her father had confiscated several weeks ago. The Repository might keep it under lock and key, but it was only a matter of figuring out which key was used to liberate it, and that had taken minimal effort—the human librarians being no match for the rage of an angry vampire.
The book was open to the final page, a black page, whose words were etched in a luminous blue—the same color as the blood that ran in Mimi's veins.
Kingsley Martin stood next to her, and the two of them read from the page by the light of a lone tapered candle. Around them, the stacks rows and rows of six-foot-tall bookcases that seemingly stretched to infinity—were silent and shrouded in darkness. The Repository held approximately ten million books. It was the largest library in the world, and the stacks went far under Manhattan, several stories below the sidewalk. No one was even sure how far down the old, rickety caged elevator went.
They had decided to perform the incantation on the subbasement level. The spell had mandated a "location of primal power," and Kingsley had suggested the Blue Blood headquarters.
"It says only one who is of like mind can call it," Mimi said, reading from the text.
"That means it has to want what you want, be
cause only then can it answer your call," he explained.
"Okay.”
"First you have to draw your victim," Kingsley said. Mimi drew a pentagram around the two of them, making sure they were within the chalk lines.
"Dark Prince of the Silver Bloods, heed my call; I Azrael, command you to bring my enemy forward," Mimi ordered in a loud, clear voice.
On the top level of the Repository, Schuyler Van Alen arrived in the main reading room, looking for Oliver. After sitting in the hotel suite for an hour, she decided she couldn't just hang around and do nothing, or wait for him to calm down. She had to find Oliver and apologize.
What she had asked for was wrong. She knew it now. She had asked for too much, and she wanted to ask for his forgiveness. He usually spent his weekend nights holed up in his cubicle at the Repository, which was the first place she decided to look after he didn't pick up his cell phone or answer his BlackBerry text messages.
Bliss Llewellyn was sitting on one of the shabby couches in the main reception area.
"Hey," Schuyler said. "Have you seen Oliver?”
Bliss nodded. "I think he's back there. He just arrived a few minutes ago.”
"Cool.”
After what happened in Montserrat, Bliss had been a little embarrassed around Schuyler.
"I'm, uh, waiting for Kingsley," Bliss said. "He asked me to meet him here.”
Schuyler nodded, even though she hadn't asked Bliss to explain her presence. She left Bliss by the entrance and walked quickly through the quiet room to find her friend. The Repository was crowded for a weekend night. Almost all the carrels were filled. Librarians were cataloging books on the shelves, and several senior members of The Committee were walking in for their weekly meeting. Schuyler saw Priscilla DuPont’s elegant white head among them, the Chief Warden was talking animatedly to a fellow Conclave member. The Elders disappeared into a private conference room, and Schuyler noticed Jack Force was sitting in his usual chair by the fire, reading a book.
Inside the pentagram, the flame on the candle flashed, and showed Mimi a vision of the Repository upstairs. Yes. Just as the spell had promised. There was Schuyler Van Alen, standing in the middle of the room.
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